A Darker Moon
by FlamingMaple
Summary: Bella has returned from Italy with Alice and Edward, but something is not quite right. The trauma of Edward leaving, and returning, and the trauma of something—dark—in between, have left Bella unhinged. Some angst. Bella x Edward. HEA. Content warning: deals with rape / sexual assault. COMPLETE.
1. Flight

Author's note: This story deals with several heavy topics, including sexual assault. I don't post much in the way of 'trigger' warnings, as they are thinly disguised plot-spoilers. Please PM me for details if you're concerned.

Reviews: I appreciate hearing people's thoughts on the story, but leaving a comment is by no means required.

Errors: This story was not 'beta'd' - meaning, I didn't have an editor at the time. There will be errors. If you point them out, I'll correct them, but I'd rather hope people would get something more than a grammar-correction exercise out of this story.

The first few chapters are a short, but they lengthen considerably after four.

~ Erin

* * *

"Here," said Alice, tucking a small package into Bella's hand. "Use this. Bathroom. Change. We're landing soon."

"What is it?" Bella asked, as Alice turned back to her phone.

"Menstrual cup," she said offhandedly.

"What?"

"A Mens-tru-al cup." She pronounced the syllables crisply, and then lowered her voice. "We're going to Voltura, Bella." She looked at her before she added, "I don't know what we're going to encounter, but you can't be smelling of blood, as much as it can be helped."

"Um," said Bella, blanching.

"It comes with instructions," Alice said, pretending to ignore Bella's embarrassment, flicking her hand in the direction of the bathrooms at the rear of the plane.

Bella pocketed the small package, and unbuckled her seatbelt, stumbling over the even floor. She walked carefully back to the plane's lavatories. Alice could hear her swallow over her uncertain steps.

 _Perhaps_ , she wondered, _the girl's got some sense in her now. Enough to know how dangerous this is. Maybe_ , she thought bitterly, _our being away did some good_. She stopped the next thought, the one that contradicted this, and went back to the plans on her phone.

Bella walked as calmly as she could, and closed the bathroom door, grateful for the moment alone. _She doesn't know_ , she told herself silently. _That's good. Focus on getting to Edward in time._

 _Edward._

Her stomach twisted, the worry eating at it. _We'll get there in time._ She repeated this to herself, stilling the stronger feelings that were clawing up the sides of her chest.

There were other, darker things, trying to slither out of the confines of bruises and tender places, but those too, were shoved back into the manageable confines of denial.

* * *

Disclaimer: S. Meyer owns Twilight. No copyright infringement is intended.


	2. Mine

Edward's mind was making a rapid reassessment of the situation he found himself in, and it was one he had no desire to be part of—the purplish-blue mark at the base of Bella's neck, the slowness of her responses, her reluctance, he realised, to be near him.

She'd moved on.

And she didn't want him.

Jacob's clenching fists, and angry words punctuated Edward's thoughts. It felt like they'd settled into his midsection.

"Don't you think you've done enough?" He said, his voice low, but the snarl barely contained.

Edward felt, rather than heard, the image of Bella, curled in Sam's arms, and winced at it.

"Did you really need to come back to do more?" Jacob asked, a fist pointed towards Bella, sitting on her bed.

Edward had never quite appreciated how loud Jacob's thoughts were. And they were loud now, as he thought of her. He could _feel_ the blistering possessiveness across the space of the room. The tumble of images slowed, and before Jacob could contain them, Edward saw things that left little for him to imagine.

He felt his midsection contort, and took a step back, away from Jacob, away from Bella.

Such thoughts.

"Oh," he mouthed, not sure what else to say. If his heart hadn't stopped beating already, it would have now. He looked back at Bella, and the mark on her neck now had a moment he could place.

Bella's face was an untelling blank, but the swimming of her eyes left no space to wonder what she was feeling, and the lines of her mouth soon joined them.

"Don't," she said, clearly struggling to say more, her forehead contorted with worry. "I can't—"

"Leave," Jacob said, with a tone that didn't entertain discussion. "Before you do worse."

A unexpected flare of angry jealousy made Edward step closer to Jacob, and Bella got up from the bed, where she'd sat, unsteady even off her feet.

"No," she said again, wobbling, a break in her voice. One hand reaching out. Jacob reached a hand back to steady her.

 _Who was this boy?_ This _pup_ , Edward thought, in a silent sneer.

And as if he could hear his thoughts, Jacob answered him. "I'm the one that's been here, picking up the pieces. Protecting her from the mess you made."

The rage faltered, and an uneasy guilt slid in beneath it. A deserved guilt.

"If you care about her, _leave_." Jacob said.

For once, Edward didn't pause to think. He fled. Ran before his feelings made him do something he'd regret.

Bella blinked, wondering again, when this nightmare would stop. She processed the empty space beside Jacob, the fluttering curtain on the windless day, and knew he was gone.

Again.


	3. What now?

What now?

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

"And they're together?" Alice squeaked, eyes wide, horrified.

Edward nodded, his form still, pose morose.

"You're sure?" She said, reaching for his shoulder. "Edward?"

"Jacob's thoughts are...loud," he said, settling on a word that wouldn't reveal more than he needed to.

Alice looked at him, watching his eyes. "This makes no sense," she said, moving away, pacing by the window.

"It makes perfect sense, Alice," Edward said, looking up, "I left."

"Then why did she go with me? She dropped everything—including him—to go save you. Why would she do that?"

"What other, logical explanation do you have, Alice, that would explain what I saw?"

"What did you see?"

He didn't reply right away, and Alice's imagination supplied her with a multitude of possibilities. "I don't think Bella would—I don't think she would be that way, with someone that she didn't...love," he finally offered.

"But you aren't sure." Alice pointed out.

"No, I don't suppose I am, Alice, but Jacob was pretty clear on his end, and Bella didn't dispute it," he said. Jacob's name came out like a curse.

"Bella can't read minds."

"I wasn't about to ask her, Alice," he gritted out, his voice rising.

"You aren't sure," she said again, this time more firmly.

"Why don't you just go ask her what she and Jacob have been up to then, Alice? Go, get all the gory details, and satisfy yourself, because I'm done."

The words hung in the air, not spent before he was gone. She heard the slap of his feet on the ground, and wondered, with an anxious clutch on her insides, when she would next see him.

 _He's probably going for a run_ , she told herself. _He'll be back_. And she let her mind follow the threads of his choices, and saw his return, settled, late tomorrow, just before sunset.

 _Perhaps_ , she thought, _he would be open to talking then._

 _Maybe it would be good to speak with Bella. Poke at things tenderly, see what she could learn._

She hoped, against a hard wall of probability, that Edward was wrong.


	4. OK

**OK**

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Author's note: So readers, back to the hints and inferred action. What conclusions do you make at the end of this chapter? Your feedback most appreciated.

* * *

"You're OK," Jacob said, "It's OK."

But it was definitely not OK.

Edward had left.

Again.

There were hot hands on her back, and a hot chest pressed to her own. The comfort was empty.

"Charlie called. He was really worried." Jacob sighed, hugging her close. "I was really worried." His voice was muffled in her hair.

Bella said nothing, but stayed as still as she could, her body tight against him. The numbness, so familiar, was creeping up from her toes.

"Hey. You there?" He was leaning back, peering into her face, the crease at his eyes a miniature worried frown.

Bella nodded, the numbness now stilling all but her head.

"Bella?" He asked, hoping for her eyes to meet his. "Don't—come one, try, please." He laced his fingers around her head, waiting.

She nodded again, her gaze dropping.

She didn't want to try.

Jacob slipped a finger under chin and brought her face back up. "Please." And he brought his lips to hers, the space between them closed. "I'm sorry," he whispered, resting his head on top of hers, as he held her close, "I shouldn't have said what I did when he called."

This stirred something in Bella. "You're sorry?" She asked, feeling the fog of confusion lift.

She wished it hadn't. Because as it peeled up a corner on the landscape of her life, she shuddered, and wished, with sudden urgency, that the blanket of oblivion would return. She pulled herself back from the image.

The numbness settled, mercifully, again, and she observed, with relieved detachment, the movement of Jacob's hands. They were soft, really, but firm in their purpose. Efficient.

Eager.

She let herself sink deeper into her comfortable pool of disconnection, and listened, without interest, to the sounds swirling around her. His whispered "I love you's" were matched with sharp breaths and sounds she couldn't place, and sensations her mind refused to name.

The sensations became increasingly too complex to identify, and it was only some time later, alone in her bed, that Bella allowed an uncomfortable awareness to swim by. It was fleeting though, and the next school of mental fish dislodged it easily.

Finally, some deeper urge in her body roused her mind to the surface. Hunger, she realised, distantly. Time to feed the fish, she thought. And giggled.

Finding herself in the bathroom, she wondered where the food was, opening cupboards, and realising finally, disappointment after disappointment, that she was in the wrong place. In the kitchen, she carefully set the pot to boil on the burner, measuring, and pouring in the pasta slowly. An elaborate ritual, it seemed, completed, but leaving her exhausted.

She found herself on the couch, settling deeper into the ocean of her thoughts.

Alice smelled the smoke before she saw it, wisping out of the kitchen window.

"Bella?" She called anxiously, knocking hard at the front door. "You OK in there?" She could hear Bella's heartbeat, a slow and even thump. Was she asleep? "Bella?" she called again. No answer.

Pulling the key out of the eve, she opened the door, and found Bella, submerged deeply in the ancient sofa, staring at the blank TV screen. The house was dark, and the low light of the late afternoon wasn't enough for any human to function by. Smoke was curling up from a pot on bright red stove element. Alice quickly put the pot into the sink, turned on the water, and turned off the stove.

"Bella? Didn't you smell the smoke?" She asked, opening windows, and coming around to look at her.

No response.

Alice gently, and then more purposefully rubbed Bella's shoulder.

Nothing.

Pulling out her phone, she called Carlisle. "What might make a human stare into space without responding?"

"Lots of things. Can you be a bit more specific?"

"Bella's sitting in her living room, not responding to me, staring at a blank TV screen. She'd let a pot scorch on the stove—it was almost on fire."

"I'll be right there," he said, and hung up.

Alice waited, watching Bella, wrapping her in the blanket, and opening the door to let more of the smoke out. It dissipated quickly in the light breeze, but the smell persisted. "Bella," she said, sitting next to her, "Carlisle's coming. I think you're not...well."

Bella still stared, tilting her head sideways at the screen.

When she finally spoke, it disturbed Alice more than her silence. "Are you really there? Alice?"

This made Alice pause. "I'm right here," she responded softly. "Can't you see me?"

"Oh, I can see you. I see lots of things. I've seen Edward too, but that's not real. I even saved him from killing himself." She giggled here, "Me! Saving him!"

"That's because you did, Bella," Alice said gently, wondering if she should get Bella to lie down. Put her feet up.

Carlisle's arrival spared her further deliberation.

"Hi Bella," he said softly, sitting down beside her, glancing at Alice. When Bella made no response, but simply maintained her glassy stare again. He asked, below Bella's hearing, "how long?"

"I don't know. She was just talking, but then she stopped."

"What was she saying?"

Alice repeated the conversation verbatim. "She didn't think what she was seeing was real."

"Hmm," he murmured, checking Bella's pulse lightly with his fingers. "I can't do more, not here," he said. "It could be trauma, concussion, a brain tumour. Almost anything." He leaned closer to hear her lungs. "Who do you think Charlie wants to hear from? You, or me?"

Alice blew out her breath, remembering Charlie's anger with Edward. With all of them. "Probably better from you. You're the supposed adult, after all."

"And Edward?"

"What about Edward?" She looked at him, her reproach clear.

"Fine," he said, putting the phone to his ear.

Bella had bubbled up to the surface in the midst of their conversation. She observed, through the watery haze, their words, and determining they were no threat to the peaceful greyness, settled back down again, slipping deeper, and deeper in the dark currents of her mind's waters.


	5. Not OK

5 Not OK

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

"Dr. Cullen," Charlie muttered, acknowledging his presence, the formality just beyond a begrudging grunt.

"Chief Swann," Carlisle murmured politely.

"Guess they're glad to have you back," Charlie continued, folding his arms, clearly not among the "they."

"They are short staffed here, yes."

"Hmph. So, you said something was up with Bella?"

"You haven't seen her yet?"

"No."

"You should see her then," Carlisle said, waving Charlie ahead with the clipboard to a curtained area off the main run of the emergency room.

"I've had enough emergencies for the next few years, Bells, what's up now," Charlie said, as good naturedly as he could, pushing the curtain aside.

Bella's glassy stare made him stop.

"Bella?" He said, moving faster now, taking her hand. He looked back at Carlisle, and flushed, breathing out an angry huff. "Did your boy—"

"No," Carlisle said quickly. "Alice found her—"

"That's not what I meant. Did he—did he leave her—again—?"

"Alice found her this afternoon. Edward told us that she didn't want to see him. That she and Jacob, were—together."

It was Charlie's turn, again, to be surprised. "Jacob?" He did not succeed in suppressing a surprised smile. "Huh."

Carlisle was eager to steer the conversation back to the more pressing matter. "Has she had any falls, fainting spells—anything unusual in the last while?"

Charlie snorted. "When doesn't she fall down." He thought for a moment. "No, I don't think she has. I mean, not that I'm aware of. You might ask Alice about whatever it is they did, when they were away." He raised his eyebrows at Carlisle, clearly waiting for an answer.

Carlisle evaded the question with his own. "Any new medication?"

Charlie glowered, but continued to answer questions, and by the end of the interview, his worry over her empty eyes had superseded his anger with Carlisle, and the rest of the Cullens.

"Observation overnight?" He asked, his voice uncertain.

Carlisle's attempt at a reassuring smile was held down by the worry in his eyes, "I think it might be a while, Charlie. We need to run some tests. It could be a few days," or _a few weeks_ , he added, silently.

Charlie swallowed, considering this. Nodding, he asked "Is she in danger, physically?" It was hard for him to get the words out.

"I don't think so. Rest will only help."

Charlie sighed, looking at his watch. "I need to get back to the station. We've had another bear attack," he added, by way of apology and explanation. "You'll call me, if anything changes?"

"Of course. And Charlie," he asked gently, "Esme and Alice will want to know if they can help."

Charlie felt a twinge of guilt at his earlier anger. "That's...kind of them," he managed, "Please thank them for me."

"They'll send me back to ask how they can help, I'm afraid, if I don't come with something to do," Carlisle added, looking convincingly sheepish.

"Whatever they'd like. I'm really not sure—"

"I'll tell them," Carlisle said, showing him out to the hall.

The day trickled on, and the tests went on, the results arriving with a harried intern, to Carlisle's desk.

"I didn't realize concussions could lead to such sustained catatonia," she murmured, handing him the file.

He looked at her sharply, "They don't, normally."

She shrugged "Talk to radiology. They called it."

He did, and took a rare moment to sit, looking at the results himself, first hand.

 _The confusion, yes, the tiredness yes, but the catatonia. No. That was something else. Trauma,_ he was sure of it.

And he forced himself to consider the most obvious one. The one he least wanted to admit.

Edward.


	6. Blood

Blood

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

The night had passed uneventfully, and Carlisle had pretended to head home, slipping into his office unnoticed, ears trained on Bella's room. Her's was a quiet one with a rare external window, and a view of a few trees, to the south.

Esme had stayed close too, slipping in and out of the room, as human appearances required.

They didn't need to speak when they met in the morning. They both knew that Bella had slept, if not restfully, but hadn't woken in any meaningful sense yet.

"She needs to be changed," Esme murmured, as he finished checking her pupil dilation.

He nodded, flicking his eyes to the door, and smiled at her. "Don't trust the quality of the nursing staff?"

She returned the smile, "it's a male nurse."

"Ah," he said, smiling, making a note on her chart. "Well, I'm sure they wouldn't mind if you lessened their workload a bit."

Pulling a fresh set of clothes from a bag, Esme covered Bella loosely with a sheet, and began to tug down gently at her sweat pants. The movement roused Bella, and she shifted, ever so slightly in the bed. Esme stopped, not because of the sign of life, but because of the smell.

"Oh," she breathed out, and carefully did not take another breath in.

"Go," Carlisle said, watching her, sliding between her and the bed. "It's OK, go. I'll take care of this." And Esme was gone, the scent of Bella's blood still lingering in the air.

Shifting Bella's pants back up again, Carlisle watched the crimson seep fan out over the fabric. When it had reached a point that he thought was sufficiently noticeable to the average human, he pressed the call button. "Miss Swann will need a change, and a bath."

The nurses arrived promptly, and Carlisle pretended to sit and take notes while they worked, calculating the amount of blood, smelling its qualities.

When they were finished, he pinched her finger tips between his own, watching, waiting for the flesh to puff and pink. But it didn't. Sighing, he sent the nurse for a bag of saline, and an IV kit. With a skill he wished he didn't have to use, he slipped it into her arm, taping it in place.

"You've got the touch, Carlisle," the nurse murmured, watching him with admiration.

"Thank you," he said quietly, waiting for the thinning of her blood, hearing the beginning of its quickening movement. _Good_ , he thought. _Dehydration solved._

He wished he had such simple solutions for what locked Bella in her frozen stare.


	7. Testing

Testing

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

Carlisle glanced over the lab results, and sat back in his chair, thinking.

The results changed things. But how best to proceed?

The subtle, shifting shadows of the overcast day told him he'd deliberated long enough.

Decided, he stood, and walked towards the stores room, gathering a small bag of supplies. He paused to look nonchalantly at several other patient charts, strolling casually towards Bella's room. When he was certain of his privacy, he slipped inside, and locked the door.

He emerged, a few minutes later, the same bag of supplies under his arm, now used.

"Esme, darling," he said, cradling the phone between his head and shoulder at the nurse's station. "She's fine, but I think it might be best if we wait a few days. We've all grown a bit...unaccustomed to such things in our time away. Don't feel badly." He paused, listening, thinking. "Charlie's being kept pretty busy at work. Maybe we can run some food over, make sure at least he eats?" He listened again, "That would be wonderful, yes, thank you."

Hanging up, and giving the approaching nurse a courteous smile, he tapped the chart. "New pain medication ordered. I've administered the first dose. As well as 2 mg lorazepam."

The nurse raised his eyebrows, ever so slightly, at this last note.

Carlisle responded in kind, inviting the question.

"I haven't seen that done before, with concussion," the nurse said warily.

Carlisle nodded, "I don't think we're dealing with just concussion. I suspect trauma, of some kind, and I want to make sure the brain has time to fully rest. So keep a close eye on her vitals, but administer it, and intravenous fluids regularly."

The nurse nodded, satisfied with the explanation, and Carlisle finished the rest of his rounds, returning to the quiet of his office.


	8. Happy Returns

Happy Returns

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

As predicted, Edward returned home, his own state mirroring that of the sunset—a predictable drop into darkness.

Emmett, immune to Edward's moodiness, threw his thoughts at him as he approached the house.

"Don't, Emmett," he growled.

"Sulker!" came the teasing reply.

Edward only growled, literally, this time, in response.

"Dude, you need to talk to Alice. Or listen to her thoughts, or whatever," Emmet called out, turning his thoughts back to the game he was watching.

Bella's name danced across Emmett's thoughts, and Edward felt the internal cringe at it.

"Alice?" he called, not sure he wanted to hear what she had to say, or what she'd seen.

The images arrived rapidly, of what Alice had seen, literally, and with her gift.

Edward's midsection contracted.

She'd arrived by this point, and they continued their silent conversation.

"Trauma?" he finally asked, swallowing.

She nodded, frowning.

"Of course," he murmured, turning, pacing.

"NO!" Alice yelled, "Leaving will not help!"

He looked at her, pained, guilt and anguish written all over his features. His voice was calm, for all the feeling that warred within. "I'm clearly the catalyst here. I left, and she was traumatized. Of course returning would retraumatize her, Alice. Think about it, logically."

She shook her head, not convinced. "You and your 'logic'" she said, fingers hooked around the words. "No. She went to save you. If you were the reason, this would have happened much earlier. Something else has happened. I just don't know what."

He didn't respond, but sunk deeper into his guilty deliberations.

"Will you go see her, please, at least?"

"That won't help things, Alice," he said more quietly. "And from what you've seen, it doesn't seem like she'll notice, anyway." His face twisted into an ugly mask, "Jacob would probably be better for her."

Alice managed to hold part of her exasperation in. "We're all a little on edge here, Edward, so let me spell things out for you: Bella's menstruating. The rest of us hungry vampires are trying to keep it all together, and haven't hunted in a while. You haven't either," she added, dismissing it with her hand, "but you seem to have some sort of miraculous restraint around Bella, so," she said, eyebrows raised, along with her voice, "get your guilt-ridden ass to the hospital and take care of her while we can't."

He grimaced, wanting desperately to see Bella, god, to hold her, but….it would only make things worse. "Carlisle—" he began.

"Carlisle works at the hospital, Edward. He has other things to do."

"Then Charlie—"

"And Charlie is busy chasing down what he thinks are bears, or human murderers, while the rest of us are trying to stave off Victoria. Remember her?"

He searched, in vain, for another reason.

"Ass. Hospital. Now." Her expression shifted, as he relented mentally. "Good. Thank you. Esme and I are going to go make dinner for Charlie, now, and drop it off at her house. You can take these things to the hospital for Bella." She handed him a large paper shopping bag of clothes, toiletries, and vase of fragrant purple lilacs, and white freesia. Bella's scent—at least to him.

Looking at the contents, he marvelled at Alice's thoroughness. And thoughtfulness. And perseverance.

Alice, he thought. It sounded like a curse.

"Thank you, Alice," he managed, finally.

"Go," she mouthed, turning him bodily towards the door.


	9. Revelations

**Revelations**

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Author's note: This chapter deals with sensitive content. Rated M.

* * *

Bella's dream was thickening, the plot stirring with ghosts—Carlisle, Alice, Esme.

And now Edward.

She felt like a jellyfish, softly formless, pulled up and down by the tides of her body's will, surfacing and seeing, with such clarity, then sinking without will. She'd been thrown up to the surface lately, the yellow-green light of the fluorescent bulbs casting unnatural shadows in the room. Edward was lurking in one of them, standing in the corner, hands in his pockets, like he was waiting for something.

He wasn't the normal Edward of her dreams, though. No, his eyes were a rigid black, the deep purple under them smudged on, like war paint. He looked menacing.

The surface of the ocean melted, and the scratchiness of her thoughts told her she was speaking them. "Why are you here?"

He moved to her side slowly, picking up the cup and straw by the bedside. He raised an eyebrow, offering it to her. He wanted to press the call button, get Carlisle here, disappear, anything but answer that question.

She took a sip, and then more, thirsty.

He felt his own thirst surface, and shoved it down again. Later, he told himself. Later. He would have to, if he wanted her safe.

He silently cursed Alice again.

She laid back on the pillow again, eyes still on him. "Why are you here? You left."

"I wanted to make sure you were OK," he said, putting the cup back. He wondered if he could get her to eat something. There was no food in the room, but maybe he could use the call button to get the nurses to bring something. He couldn't quite bring himself to touch it, though, not wanting to break the intimacy of their moment.

"Oh," she said, and the ocean tide was shifting. Powerful surges—painful ones—were sucking at her feet, and she was down, deep, the darkness a heavy relief that kept the feelings securely in place.

"Bella," Edward called, tentatively brushing her hand, but the directionless stare had returned. She was gone, again.

Footsteps were approaching the door. From the heavy squish of the shoes, he guessed it was the nurse he'd seen. The thump of the door being hip-checked open, told him he was right. He could hear the rattle of syringes on a tray.

Edward looked up and frowned at the array, stepping wordlessly away from the bed. From a distance, he eyed Bella's chart, hanging from the rail. He had read through all the notes by the time the nurse had the first syringe in the IV.

He made a mental note to refresh his knowledge of concussion treatment. Carlisle was clearly ahead of him on the latest developments. He wasn't sure he agreed on the course of treatment, though, and frowned as the nurse tapped the last of the medications, before injecting it to the line.

Was she in pain? he wondered. Perhaps Carlisle was just being cautious. But still, it wasn't like him to treat without good reason. He'd ask, he decided, when he saw him next.

He shook his head. What was he doing? She didn't want him in her life. She'd made it clear. I'm just making things worse, he thought morosely.

This line of thinking was interrupted by the waft an unwelcome scent, as the nurse opened the door to leave.

Jacob.

Following the nurse outside, he slipped as unobtrusively as possible into Carlisle's office.

"You're back," Carlisle observed, not looking up from his desk. And then the scent reached him. "Who—?" he began, rising.

"Jacob," Edward said, trying not to sound bitter. He wasn't sure he was successful, based on the look Carlisle gave him.

"Good," Carlisle finally said. "I have some questions for him."

"I'll stay here," Edward muttered.

Carlisle nodded, and left Edward to his moping.

From a distance, Edward could hear Jacob and Carlisle talking.

"Did you see her jump from the cliff?" Carlisle's voice was only slightly muted, but Edward could hear that it was calm, professional. Full of an absence of judgement.

"No," Jacob said. "I only saw her in the water, after."

"Did she hit her head, do you think? In the water? By the cliff face?"

"I don't think so. She didn't say anything about it if she did."

"Have there been any other falls, even small ones? Slipping somewhere, inside, outside?"

Edward could hear Carlisle registering a no, but what he could also here were Jacob's thoughts. The loud images, things he would prefer not to see. And one of them was of he and Bella, slipping off a couch, his lips pressed to her neck, a playful intent that had blossomed into another feeling entirely.

He inhaled sharply. Thoughts, so unlike the human voice, were a polyphony even the thinker was sometimes unaware of, and in the background of Jacob's memory, was a disturbing thud, of Bella's head hitting the floor. Jacob hadn't realised it, but he had probably given Bella a concussion.

And if the memories lined up where he thought they did, Bella and Jacob had—-

He stopped the line of thought, and shook his head, trying to dislodge the images.

He was beginning to entertain other thoughts. Theories and thoughts that couldn't be verified, not until Bella woke up. And then...then what?

If he asked her, it might traumatize her all over again. And if he asked Jacob, he would sound like the jealous, ex—ex what exactly? Boyfriend? He scoffed at this childish notion, and settled on traitor. The person who'd broken her in the first place. Abandoned her to a pack of adolescent werewolves. The word left distaste, even in his mind.

He needed to speak with Carlisle, though. He needed to know when she'd hurt herself.

Carlisle was explaining the medication schedule, telling Jacob that she would be asleep for a good long period now, that it was helping protect her mind. Giving it space to heal.

And Jacob, Edward realised with relief, was leaving.

Good riddance, he thought darkly.

When the boy's thoughts had receded from his hearing, Edward returned to Bella's room. Carlisle was replacing the blanket over her, as he came in.

"She hit her head on Saturday," he said.

Carlisle looked at him, surprised, "How?"

"I heard Jacob—his thoughts. He didn't realise it, but when they," oh, how was he going to put words to that? "Were fooling around, they fell off a couch. She hit her head," he shrugged, "he heard it, but it didn't register."

The phrasing was not lost on Carlisle. He was normally so precise. Detailed. His speech was remarkably free of the idioms and cliches that coloured human discourse. He pushed at what he felt was a verbal evasion. "How would he—?"

Edward grimaced. "He was...focused on...other things," he finally gritted out. If he could blush, he would have.

Carlisle was perfectly still. "You're sure?" He finally asked.

Edward nodded.

"Edward, I need you to be certain."

Edward narrowed his eyes at this in confusion. There was no question of certainty with a vampire's mind. "I can tell the difference between a memory, and a fantasy," he said, wondering what Carlisle was getting at.

"What, exactly, did you see?" Carlisle persisted.

Edward balked, but Carlisle wouldn't ask unless he needed to know. "They were—intimate," he finally whispered, uncomfortable to acknowledge the words, let alone feel them on his lips.

Carlisle's mind stoppered itself. The shift was remarkable, and Edward looked up at him.

"What are you hiding?" Edward asked, looking sharply at him.

Carlisle was silently reciting the hypocratic oath.

"Carlisle," he growled. "I will hear it. Eventually, when you slip. What aren't you telling me?"

He didn't speak right away, but took a firm grip of his arm. "Alice told you Bella was menstruating?"

He nodded.

"She isn't. And I need you to control yourself when I tell you this. Can you do that?"

Edward nodded, feeling too many questions to know which one to start with.

"Do you promise me that you will not do anything, without discussing it with me, after I tell you this?"

"Yes." Edward did not like where the conversation, or his mind, were going with this.

"I had to suture second degree lacerations on Bella today. To stop the bleeding."

Carlisle kept a hard grip on Edward's forearm. Edward closed his eyes, and pulled away, hands to his head, trying not to run. But wanting to find Jacob, to—

"You promised," he heard Carlisle's voice, "and Bella needs you here," he added.

"He hit her head to the ground," he finally said, "hard enough to concuss her. And then had sex with her. Leaving her with second degree lacerations. That required stitches. And you want me to wait here." He was taking fast, deep breaths, fuelling his anger with Bella's heady scent.

"Would you prefer to violate the treaty, potentially devastate Bella emotionally, or traumatise her further, and force us to relocate, or engage in continued open conflict with the Quileutes?" Carlisle said as calmly as possible, intentionally standing between Edward and the door.

The cold dose of logic washed over him, and he let his imaginative energies, entertaining the pleasant notion of giving Jacob a severe concussion, subside. Carlisle, as usual, was right.

"We don't know for sure that he did it. It could have been someone else. And if it was, he likely has no idea what he's done, Edward. He's young—"

"You can't possibly think that excuses him?" Edward hissed, a low growl building in his chest. The full force of his feelings were surfacing. He discarded Bella's rejection of him, and resolved to stay, to fight for her, regardless of her stated feelings.

He let his love for her have free rein, and it swept away the anger, replacing it with a heart-wrenching worry that made him turn to her, and bring her fingers to his lips.

"It doesn't make it any less wrong, no, but it might matter to Bella."

This stopped Edward in his tracks.

Carlisle was right. It might.

Edward prayed it didn't.


	10. Hunger

Hunger

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

Closing the door behind him, an exhausted Charlie Swann hung up his jacket, and gun belt, rubbing his face with his hands. Man, all he wanted was a beer, and dinner, and a nap. Realising that he was likely out of beer, and edible food, he sighed, wondering what there was in the cupboards that he could turn into something passable. The large, heart-shaped sticky note on the fridge caught his eye. It was neon-pink. "Dinner's inside. Esme hopes you like it. - Alice"

God bless Alice—and Esme. The thought was mental sigh. He felt relieved.

Opening the fridge, he repeated the blessing. There were neat tupperware containers of what looked like enough food for a week, for both lunches, and dinners. And there was beer.

His feelings towards the Cullens softened slightly, and he suffered a guilty pang, thinking about his surly words with Carlisle this morning.

Checking the time, he wondered if he would have time for a nap, before he saw Bella. Likely not, he realised, and pulled out a beer, and a dinner. After a moment, he set them down, realising that he'd picked out his last clean shirt today, and would need more for tomorrow. If he was going to get laundry done tonight, he'd better get it started. He trudged upstairs, throwing the one he was wearing in the laundry machine, and moved through his room, gathering more laundry. He hesitated slightly, before stepping into Bella's room, not wanting to violate her privacy. Assuring himself that she wouldn't mind if he did her laundry, he entered and picked up the clothes, and a dirty, stiffly dried towel she'd uncharacteristically left on the floor. His eyes were drawn to a note on the bedside table. His innards chilled. Bedside notes were rarely good. He picked it up tentatively, wishing half-heartedly for a pair of evidence gloves. It read: "I love you. Keep trying. Call you later. - Jacob"

Relieved, he folded it carefully, and put it in his pocket. He'd bring it to her later. The less logical parts of his mind attributed an uncertain magic to the words of loved ones, written or spoken, and he wanted these to be as close to her as possible.

Jacob. It made him smile to think of it. His, and Billy's child together. It was right, in so many ways. Now, he just needed to protect her from the Cullen boy.

Edward.

His mood sullied, and the laundry started, he trudged downstairs to his waiting dinner. Opening the tupperware container, he sighed in pleasure. Salmon with roast potatoes. No vegetables. His favorite. Bella must have told them, he realised, before they left.

His feelings towards the Cullens, en masse, softened again.

He set himself down to eat on the couch, and woke, a solid hour later, knocking over the empty container as he startled. Looking at the time, he dusted himself off, grabbing his keys, and headed out to the car.

Carlisle had finally convinced Edward to hunt.

"It isn't like she's going to miss you for the next few hours, Edward, and you need to be well, if you're going to be any use to her."

Edward was moving rapidly through the wetness of the forest, nostrils flaring, searching for the quickest game. He could scent deer, and found easy prey in a young buck. It tasted bland, but it would keep him safe for Bella. Her name, recited in his mind, was a balm against the deeper hungers of his flesh.

Charlie felt weary, even after his unplanned sleep, and the hospital only added to the feeling. The weight of illness, worry, and grief hung about the place. His work had carried him here often enough, that it was permanently tinged with the grubbiness of the business that he usually encountered in it. It bothered him that Bella had to be here at all, not just for her well being, but because it brought the clean sphere of home, and the darker one of work too close together for his own peace of mind.

Carlisle knew, before the phone rang, that Charlie had arrived. He'd left his door open, and the scents of the building ran through the current that drew from the slit of the open window. "Of course," he said into the receiver, "I'll be right down."

He had, with many mixed feelings, agreed with Edward, that they should keep what they'd learned to themselves. There was no way to verify it, not until Bella woke up, and even then—she'd have to come to her own conclusions, for her own good.

"Carlisle," Charlie said, turning when he entered Bella's room.

At least I'm back to being Carlisle, instead of Dr. Cullen now, he thought. He made a mental note to thank Esme for feeding Charlie. Men, stomachs, and hearts, he ruminated.

Charlie sat, slightly slumped, his hand rubbing over Bella's. "Any change, today?"

"Yes, I was just going to call you," he lied, "she was awake for a few minutes, talking."

"What did she say?"

"I don't know, exactly," he said.

"Who did she talk to?" Charlie asked, looking around, almost as if he expected to find someone else in the room.

"Edward," Carlisle said softly.

Charlie stiffened immediately, pressing his lips together, jaw tight. "Edward," he said. It dropped like a rock, deadening the conversation.

Many of the chief's positive feelings dribbled away at this revelation.

"Jacob visited, too," he added.

That seemed to mollify Charlie a bit, and he nodded, "good," he said. "He left a note for her, the other day, I guess." He pulled it out, smoothing it, before setting it beside Bella's bed. A vase of fresh flowers was there too. Alice's work, he suspected, smiling, but the corners of his mouth drooped when he realised it could just have easily been Edward.

"Esme brought them," Carlisle answered his unspoken thought, watching the drift of his eyes.

"Please thank her for me—and for the food, too."

Carlisle nodded, and then, the niceties aside, briefed Charlie on the medical information he could provide. It wasn't much, but Charlie agreed that rest was what Bella needed at the moment.

Edward waited, securely unnoticed in the darkness just outside the parking lot. When Charlie left, he returned, taking up his vigil, this time by Bella's bed, her hand in his. He kept up a constant murmur of his devotion, unbroken, as the dark moon traced a silent parabola in the sky.

* * *

Author's note: I long to know what you infer, dear readers, so far in this tale. Where do you expect it to go next? Your thoughts help me see where I've successfully, and perhaps unintentionally, planted seeds.


	11. Awake

Awake

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

The days passed in a regular rhythm, and rotation, of visitors. Just a week over her hospital admission, Bella surfaced once again, this time in the late afternoon. Edward had left the door open to air out the room, and was reading quietly to her. He had, with Carlisle's encouragement, made sure he hunted, and showered, and changed, and looked, Bella thought, more like the Edward she was used to seeing in her dreams. His hand was cold against her own, and his thumb brushed over her fingers regularly. It felt so good, so soft. A cold velvet.

She turned her head and smiled. Her Edward. Her dream Edward.

His eyes widened, ever so slightly, as she looked at him.

And then her stomach growled. Loudly.

Huh, mused Bella, that's new for dreams.

"Bella?" Edward asked, almost not believing she was awake.

"Yeah," she croaked, putting an uncertain hand to her throat. He had a cup of water, and a straw, and held it up to her mouth. "Thanks," she whispered, and took a long pull, tired suddenly. She let her head fall back against the pillow. Her stomach burbled again.

"Hungry?" He asked.

"I am. Is that pizza I smell?"

"Yes," he said, remembering the delivery boy walking by. "Want some?"

"Please," she said, startled by how real everything felt. Her dreams were real but...and she pinched her arm. It hurt, with a reassuring sting. She did it again.

Edward's hand was over hers, stopping another attempt. "You're awake," he said gently.

"But," she said, shaking her head, "you left—you left!" Her voice was rising, quickly reaching a hysterical pitch. "You left, you're not here!" She began to shake.

He put both hands on her arms, and said as clearly, and reassuringly as he could. "I am here. You're awake, and safe. You've had a bad concussion, Bella. But you're going to be OK."

She was breathing rapidly, her heart pounding, faster and louder than it should have. Her eyes rolled back, and her body took on an unnatural rigidity. Slamming his hand into the alarm button, Edward turned her, as gently as possible, onto her left side.

The nurse scrambled into the room, followed quickly by Carlisle.

Moving needlessly through the motions of assessment, Carlisle barked orders at the nurses in the hall, and was soon jamming a syringe into the IV line. The seizure stopped, and Edward blew out the breath he'd been holding in.

"You good, Dr. Cullen?" The nurse asked, breathing heavily, wiping his forehead.

Carlisle nodded, dismissing him.

"What happened?" He asked, as soon as the nurse closed the door.

"She woke up—knew she was awake. And she was upset that I'd left, and that I was here." He stuttered through the words. The horror of her reaction was beginning to make its full impact known. How much damage had he done?

Carlisle was watching him, quiet, and thoughtful. "If she woke up once, so lucidly, she's likely to wake up again, and soon. Perhaps," he gestured tentatively, "it would be best if someone...else helped her transition to that state."

Edward nodded, still stumbling through the guilty horrors of his mind. He looked over at Bella, brushing her hair from her face, stroking her cheek. "I won't be far," he said to Carlisle, and to Bella, "you're safe. Come back soon."

The heavy sedation Carlisle had used left Bella in a shallow, and broken dream. This one, she realised, was jarred by illogical breaks, and when the sluggish haze lifted, there was a clear, and warm light that was filling the room.

"Hey you," came Charlie's voice. It held an uncertain edge to it. Surprise, hope—fear—all tinging it with too much energy. "You're awake." He was fumbling to find the call button.

Bella blinked. She curled her fingers into her hands, and the sting of her fingernails told her she was, indeed awake. "How long—?"

"Just over a week," he said, frowning at the unusual roughness of her voice. He offered her the water by the bed, and she returned the frown, a vague unease disturbing her. She took the cup.

"A week? You're...sure?" Bella felt stupid after asking, but still. A week.

Charlie nodded slowly.

She sipped at the water.

"They've left breakfast for you, if you're hungry."

"I am, actually," she said, lifting the lid on the tray he'd moved to her reach. "Oh," she said, looking at it. Oatmeal.

Charlie laughed, seeing her face. "Sorry," he said, "you always hated oatmeal. Let's see if they've got something else."

The nurse had stepped quietly into the room, and was doing a quiet check of her vitals, as unobtrusively as possible. "I'll let Dr. Cullen know," he murmured.

"Wait—can you find her something else to eat?" he asked, handing over the tray.

"Sure," the nurse smiled, "happy to."

"Dr. Cullen? As in—?"

"Yup, the pretty boy himself," Charlie said, trying to keep his tone light.

Bella laughed, despite the unease she felt gripping her midsection. "Trust you to make jokes," she smiled, but it melted off her face as she began to make sense of what he was saying. "Did they all—?"

"Yes," he nodded, "they're all back." Seeing her face contort, he took her hand quickly, "and you don't have to see any of them, if you don't want to." He stood, "I'll get another doctor—"

"No, it's fine," she said, "thank you for telling me."

She took in the room, the flowers in the vase. The clothes she was in, not her own. "I guess...Alice has been helping?"

Charlie nodded, sitting down carefully. "Esme too," he smiled, "they made sure I didn't starve."

"Oh, good," Bella said, her smile small and shaky. "Wouldn't want you to burn the house down trying to cook or something."

Charlie's answering smile was small, and nervous too. He looked pained. "How much do you remember, Bella?"

Her eyebrows shot up, "most of my life, Dad. You want a retelling?"

"Of the last ten days," he said drily.

Bella thought for a while, her face convulsing on concentration. "I...remember coming home and finding Alice. I think...I think I was with Jake," She stopped, looking at him, "did Alice and I go on a trip?" She looked genuinely confused.

Charlie weighed the possibilities of her making either a very convincing attempt to get out of being grounded—forever—or legitimately didn't remember what had happened. He decided in her favour.

It was his turn to swallow, as he answered her question. "You did," he said quietly, "I don't know where. You left me a note saying you'd be back."

Bella blinked. "A note? How long were we gone for?"

"Three days," he said.

"And now it's?" she asked, looking around for a calendar, a clock, a day.

"Thursday," he said quietly.

"Ten days?"

"'Bout that," he nodded, watching her carefully. She was thinking, he could tell, trying to piece it all together. "When we came back—"

"You were exhausted. Looked like you hadn't slept the entire time you were gone. Edward insisted on carrying you up to bed." He scowled at that.

Bella reached for the water again, and swallowed more.

"So, he's—"

"Yup, he's here," Charlie grumbled.

"I thought I was dreaming," she muttered, taking more of her surroundings in. Her eyes found the note beside the bed, and she picked it up.

"Has Jake been in to see me?" She asked, confused by the words on the page.

"He has, I hear, but that was by your bed at home," Charlie said, tilting his head slightly to look at her. "Not that I'm not happy to hear the news, but I was surprised you didn't tell me yourself." The reproach was gentle, but still there.

Bella had no idea what Charlie was talking about, but the note was giving her some clues. The panicked thought rose, that if Charlie knew exactly how little she remembered, she might be stuck in this room longer, or worse, sent back to her mother. I can figure things out, she told herself, just need to stay calm.

It wasn't hard to make herself blush.

"I'm happy for you," he said, "Jacob's a good kid," he added.

Bella nodded, and was relieved to see the door open, and the startling beauty of Carlisle Cullen walk into the room. He had a clipboard under one arm, and a tray that smelled of—was that bacon?—syrup, and oh, she thought, coffee.

"Hi Bella, good to see you awake," he smiled.

"Hi," she said awkwardly, uncomfortable from the long absence of their relationship.

He worked quickly, gently walking Bella through a few tests, clearly pleased to see her alert, and eating.

"Go slow," he said, watching her tackle the bacon first, "you haven't had much solid food this past week."

She nodded, but kept nibbling steadily, profoundly hungry.

"I'd like you to stay for at least another day, or two, depending on how things go."

Charlie seemed relieved by this, but Bella was obviously disappointed. More hospital time?

"Is there something we can bring you to make you more comfortable?" Carlisle asked.

She shook her head. "No, I just—I just want to go home," she said quietly. "I'm not a fan of hospitals."

Carlisle nodded, sympathetic. "Can we give it a day? Make sure there are no—" more, he thought, "medical complications?"

Bella reluctantly agreed, and Charlie made his excuses, heading for work. Carlisle stayed a few minutes longer, giving her a brief lecture on the symptoms and side-effect she could expect. She was relieved to hear that memory loss wasn't abnormal, but still disturbed that so much time was still blank. She didn't trust him enough to ask just how much she could expect to have lost.

No, she was keeping that loss close.

Left to her own devices, she decided that getting up to use the bathroom would be a good start.

When she finished, she stood carefully from the toilet, and washed her hands slowly. Turning, she faced the door, and forced herself to look—really look—at herself in the mirror.

She was thin, she saw, to the point of frailness. Shadows curled in the hollows of her cheeks, and as she loosened the robe she wore, she could see the outline of ribs, dark also, but with the pale haunts of old bruises. They ran up both sides of her ribcage, with yellowed splotches colouring patches of her legs and arms. She turned to check the remainder of herself, confused. What had happened to her? And when?

The fuzzy possibilities of the last two weeks sat uneasily.

Carlisle had said any memories lost would return, but likely slowly, and that it was best for her to discover them on her own.

A knock at the door startled her.

"It's Alice," came her voice, muffled by distance and doors.

"Hold on, out in a sec," she called.

"Actually, I'm not sure I want to see you yet," and the knock was on the bathroom door, making Bella jump.

"Jesus, Alice," she muttered.

"Sorry."

The door slid open a crack, and Alice held out a bag, through the top of which Bella could see clothes—her own clothes, a new toothbrush, and a variety of other toiletries.

"I'll give you a few minutes," Alice said, and slid the door clothes.

"Thanks," Bella murmured, and sighed in relief.

Turning on the shower, Bella put a foot up on the edge of the high tub. The movement made her inhale sharply. The twinge had travelled most intimately upwards. She tried the movement again, more slowly, and the sensation returned. She moved tentatively after that, being careful in the water. A few soft, probing explorations later, Bella was shaking, trying to calm herself under the hot water.

Over its spray, she heard Alice, "You OK, Bella?"

"Yeah," she said too quickly, "I'm fine." She told herself that Alice would not hear the tears, or the sobs, over the sound of the shower. No way.

When the feelings had passed, she emerged slowly, moving in deliberately coordinated movements. So normally accident prone, Bella did not want to wind up longer in the hospital by her own hand. Or feet.

"There's my girl," said Alice, holding out her arms.

Bella leaned in to give her a hug. The cool arms were a relief, against what she wasn't sure, but she was surprised to feel tears running down her cheeks.

"Hey," Alice soothed, "it's OK," her brow furrowed as she leaned back to look at her.

"Sorry," Bella sniffed, "but I hear this is pretty common with concussions. Ask Carlisle." She tried to smile reassuringly, but her mouth only flickered. A sudden weariness had taken hold of her legs, and she felt her stance slipping.

"Bed," Alice said chirpily, and slipped her onto it.

Bella wavered mentally. Could she trust Alice, to ask what had happened, what she knew? Maybe not. Alice and Charlie were close. What if she told him? Or worse, what if she told Bella things that were better left forgotten? Carlisle had said her mind was protecting itself. Maybe it was best to let it be protected.

She decided she would play along for now, see what she remembered on her own. If it was still this way in a week or two, she would re-evaluate.

"So," Alice said, nodding at the note, "you and Jacob, huh?"

"Mmm," Bella said non-committally.

"Really?" Alice asked, "That's all you're giving me? I mean, I get why you didn't tell me before, what with Edward's state of mind, but everyone knows now."

Bella was again grateful at how easy it was to make herself blush. Floridly.

She looked down at her hands.

"OK, fine, I won't press for more details," Alice sighed, holding both hands up in surrender. "I did, however, thoughtfully arrange for some entertainment. Your choice, audio book—or I can read to you—movies, or eww, Emmett included football games."

Bella chuckled, and then sighed. No reading. That was definitely going to suck. "I'd love it if you read to me, actually," she said quietly.

"Done," said Alice, and pulled out her manicure set.

"Uh, reading?" said Bella.

Alice tapped her head. "Perfect recall. Which book? What colour?"

"Of book?" Bella asked.

Alice rolled her eyes. "Nail polish, dummy."

It was hurting her head to laugh so much, and Bella brought her hand to the back of it, rubbing softly. She could feel the remains of an angry, and tender lump.

"Your choice," she said, letting herself lean back against the elevated bed.

"Excellent!" Alice smiled, not missing Bella's discomfort, and began her recall of Pride & Prejudice. Filing Bella's fingernails evenly, she was not surprised to see the deep brown eyes begin to drift, and close, just at the midpoint of chapter two. By the beginning of chapter three, Bella's breath was a deep, and even rhythm, and Alice wondered where she'd have to pick up the next time Bella woke up. Or if she'd remember their interaction at all.

"She might remember everything, nothing, or just fragments. It's hard to say. The more rest she has, the better her chances of a full recovery. It will take months, though, before she's close to normal again," Carlisle had warned her.

They'd all nodded, acknowledging his words, the worry worn differently in each face. Human lives were so fragile, so uncertain.

She's asleep, her mind called out, and she moved aside to make room for Edward at Bella's side.

* * *

Author's note: So, *I* think that I write funny stuff sometimes (bits of conversation and whatnot in this particular chapter), but I really have no idea if anyone else thinks so. If you had a giggle over any of these lines, or appreciated the comic timing, I would love to hear. Otherwise, I shall wonder away in the dark...


	12. Home

Home

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

Bella sighed into the softness of her own bed. She was at home, alone, and she could do whatever she wanted, without worry of anyone walking in to tell her otherwise.

She contemplated the possibilities before her. It was warm enough, in the rare March air, to go lay outside on a blanket, and feel the stray rays of sunshine that were appearing, timidly through the cloud cover.

Or, she could make herself a sandwich, and watch some TV.

Or, she thought, she could just stay right here, letting the mattress absorb her weight, the frequent fuzziness of her thoughts making a comfortable blanket over her.

When she heard her name, she blinked, and realized with what was becoming a disturbingly common dislocation, that the quality of the light had changed. It was late afternoon, or early evening. She couldn't tell.

And then she was standing, pressed into the tight grip of large, warm arms.

"I'm so glad you're home, and that you're OK," Jacob said.

"Ow," she managed, her face squashed into his bare chest.

"Oh, sorry," he said, releasing her.

The grip of his arms slackened, but his hands pressed her arms to her sides with a grip matched only by the intensity of his lip. She was sliding—no, falling back onto the bed, and Jacob's kiss pinned her down, the lead of his body securing her in place.

She could feel, through the thin fabric of their clothing, the extent of Jacob's desire, and he drove the point home by letting the breadth of his hips push into hers.

Outside, downwind of Bella's house, in the shadows of the trees, Edward was trying to be quiet, and not break anymore trees. He'd set down the small sapling that he'd inadvertently snapped in half, when Jacob's thoughts had left no doubt to what was unfolding in Bella's room.

Bella was trying not to panic. _Did we_?— _No, we wouldn't have_ , she told herself.

"I want you," he breathed, one hand sliding down the backside of her sweatpants, moving easily inside the waistband.

Bella was having trouble forming purposeful thoughts. _No_ , she told herself, the wall of denial high and hard. _No way._

Jacob was sliding her sweatpants past her hips.

"No!" She said, grabbing at the waistband, her other hand trying to push him away.

Edward stopped himself from running towards the house, but just. It was only the realization of the danger he would put her in that made him stay.

Jacob stopped too, and pushed himself up fractionally, but didn't completely move off of her. He was breathing heavily, his cheeks flaming.

She took advantage of the moment, and scrambled out from under him, standing, pulling her pants back into place.

He joined her immediately, an arm around her waist, pulling her close.

Bella was utterly overwhelmed, and pushed him away. "Jake, just stop, please."

Edward crouched, ready to run, ready to pull Jacob into convenient pieces, but forced himself to breath, taking in the bruised scent of cedar that coated his hands. He would only endanger Bella, he told himself. The thought of Jacob phasing, so close to her, made him shudder.

Jacob, perturbed by Bella's sudden refusal, was harbouring the seeds of an unwanted jealousy, and it flared up in him, an ugliness that lashed out of its own accord.

"It's him, isn't it." He was trying to stay calm, but was failing spectacularly. His tight fists spoke volumes.

Edward listened, nursing a faint hope.

"No," Bella said, knowing exactly who he was talking about. She took a deep breath in, and released it slowly, and then lied, "no, it's just...everything is so confusing Jake. I don't know if I'm coming or going." Her voice broke over the words, and the fluent tears surprised her. Frustration over her insipid emotionality added to the mess of feelings.

Reassured that her refusal stemmed from the concussion, Jacob felt his own relief, and tentatively took her hand. "Do you remember what we talked about that first night?"

Edward, grappling with the disappointment of her response, wondered if she did. He doubted it.

"Of course," Bella lied again, hoping she could stumble her way through.

 _No_ , Edward realised, _she doesn't_ , hearing the telling flutter of her heart.

Jacob took both hands, rubbing his thumbs over them. The heat was startling. "Then no more sliding into the emptiness. Right?" He was studying her face, like he was looking for something. "You have to try."

Bella's head was swimming. Had she tried—she balked at the thought—to kill herself? She kept her face as impassive as possible, but felt the colour of a blush creeping up it.

She nodded, as convincingly as possible.

And Jacob wrapped his arms around her. "There's my girl," he said. "Keep trying." And he reached his head down to kiss her. "Keep trying."

Bella pulled away, as gently as possible, nodding, avoiding his gaze.

Jacob, eager, impatient, and full of an adolescent lust that had been so sweetly sated, and then denied, sighed. He would wait, he told himself, until she was ready. His body screamed at him, raging against the restraint.

"I'm actually really tired, Jake, I—" and she hated herself for lying more, "I need to sleep." And seeing the look in his eyes, "alone."

"OK," he murmured, still holding her hands, "I'll be outside, running patrol for the first part of the evening, if you need anything."

"Patrol?" Bella asked.

"We haven't seen Victoria in a while, but still, we're being careful."

"Victoria?" Bella choked out, recalling, with sudden horror, the flame on the water.

 _The water._

She'd jumped.

Jumped off the cliff.

 _Why had she jumped off the cliff?_

And the reason for that came to her too.

Oh.

Oh.

Edward.

"You forgot?" Jacob's voice called her back to the present.

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. To reveal more of her ignorance. Or anguish.

"You're safe," he assured her. "There's nothing to worry about."

She nodded, and sat, drained by the realization. "OK."

Stealing a last kiss from the top of her head, Jacob slipped down the stairs. As he passed the kitchen, the acrid bite to his nose made him freeze. With a longer whiff, he realised it was old, and stepped inside the kitchen. _Had Victoria_ —? No, it was near the fridge. _The Cullens_ , he thought with something like a sneer, _their fingers in everything_. He supposed, at least, that Charlie wouldn't smell the stench on his food. _Yeuch._

Locking the door with the key Charlie had provided Billy, he found the dark of the forest, and slipped into his other self.

At a safe distance, Edward sighed in relief. She could sleep, at least, alone. He slunk back into the woods, away from where Jacob would smell him, and kept watch, watching Jacob watch Bella.

Beyond them both, a lithe and fiery-headed figure watched them all.

* * *

Author's note: hope you enjoyed! Next chapter will be up this weekend.


	13. What you don't know

**What you don't know**

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

Too exhausted to linger in her muddled thoughts, Bella let her feelings about Jacob bubble up honestly around her. She could summon the phrases _best friend_ , and _someone she loved_ , but nothing that compared to what she felt for, what she felt for—

She pulled back from the brink of _that_ chasm.

 _Well_ , she told herself, _at least that tells me_ something _about how I feel_.

Could you love two people, simultaneously, in the way she had...before, with one?

She didn't know.

But she knew she didn't feel the way she needed to about Jacob, to return his feelings.

Had she, though? Had she finally, in those lost days, found something with Jacob? And had... _his_ return made her regret the choice? So much so that she couldn't remember it?

She didn't like to think of herself as so mercurial, but she knew it was possible, even if unlikely. She wouldn't have made a commitment to Jacob lightly.

Flopping onto her back, she felt around on the bedside bedside table, fingers sliding over the clutter for the familiar comfort of a book. She had pulled the topmost of the stack over, but then stopped abruptly, and put it back. _Right. No reading yet._ Left with only the company of her own thoughts, she wondered how she could continue to deflect Jacob's physical interests, without alienating him completely. Without hurting him.

She concluded, that her best option was to be as truthful as possible, and tell him she didn't feel like herself, and needed some time be in her own mind, before being...physical. Her gut clenched at the thought. He might press for how she felt, but he would respect her wishes otherwise. She was certain of that.

She avoided, with pointed mental bifurcation, all the evidence that suggested they _had_ slept together.

Slowly, the night crept up around her, and Bella reluctantly turned off the bedside lamp. Its warmth was an easy company to keep, and the darkness an uncertain one. Her body, and mind, exhausted by the transition home, made better friends with the night than she anticipated, and sleep was soon over her.

The next day began with a gentle shake from Charlie. "Bells," he said quietly, "time to wake up kiddo."

Making a sound that sounded something like "nrrrrrnnnnnggggg," Bella rolled over, blinking against the light that was too bright—painful, even.

"Aw, Dad, can you turn that off?"

He chuckled. "Sorry, no, can't turn off the sun," but he got up and closed the curtains. "Better?"

"Thanks," she said, trying to open her eyes without it hurting.

"Sorry to wake you, but these are on a schedule, even if you aren't," he said, handing her a set of pills.

"I'd really rather not," she said, not a fan of them at the best of times.

"And I'd really rather you did," he said, holding them out again.

Bella considered the energy it would take to fight him on this, and then took the pills, grimacing as they went down.

Charlie nodded. "I'm off. Fridge's stocked courtesy of Esme. Try to eat something, 'K?"

"Sure dad," Bella said, grateful he was leaving.

She needed time.

Alone.

Bella didn't bother trying to shower. She was nervous that she'd slip, the dizziness arriving in unpredictable spurts. She shied away from the idea of a bath. Too...much water.

She made it half-way down the stairs, before it took her unawares. She sat, her head between her legs, until the swirling passed, and then scooted the rest of the way on her bum. When she was sure she was steady, she walked into the kitchen, a hand on the wall to keep herself upright.

Charlie had not been kidding. The fridge was stocked. Doing as quick a calculation as she could—which was slow, and involved sorting containers—Bella figured they had at least a week's worth of food for both of them. All packaged in precisely labelled packages. She felt silly for it, but she tood, feeling the coldness of the air waft over her, and cried. She felt cared about.

And then she slammed the fridge, without taking anything, and slumped into the couch, the sobs making her ribs ache.

Charlie found her there, some hours later, the salt stains clear on her cheeks. Standing, one hand on his hip, and the other running through his hair, he turned and did a brief tour of the house. If she'd eaten anything, he realized, she'd cleaned it up, and put it away. Maybe nothing had appealed to her in the fridge? He'd ask Carlisle, tomorrow, if the medication might suppress appetite.

He blew out a sigh, and figured it was time to wake her up, at least for her evening medication. "Bella," he called quietly, rubbing her back, "time to wake up, kiddo." It was harder, this time, to get her to respond, and he could feel his heart rate stumbling over itself, afraid she might have fallen into something deeper. "Bella," said louder, his hand pressing hard on her shoulder blades.

"I'm 'wake," she said, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "Oh, gross," she said, her disgust with herself evident.

His relief squared away, Charlie sighed, "yep, you always were a drooler. I blame your mom."

Bella was now awake enough to give him a good back-handed smack to his arm.

"So drooly, why don't you go get some proper clothes on, and I'll take you out for dinner." He stood, and offered her a hand up from the couch.

The world reeled around her as she stood, and she sat back down, putting her head between her knees.

"Maybe not," she mumbled from between them.

"Give it a minute," Charlie encouraged her.

"I think this might take longer than a minute," she said.

It did. She moved her head up slowly, and by the time she was completely upright, Charlie had a glass of juice ready for her. "Drink up," he ordered, and pressing a set of pills into her hand.

Bella looked at him, her eyebrows a heavy line.

"Remember the cat?" He asked.

"Sure," she said.

"Remember how I used to give the cat pills?" He looked meaningfully at the blanket beside her.

"You're a sadist," she said, her voice muffled around the pills in her mouth.

"Actually, it's pronounced parent. _Par-ent_ ," he emphasized.

"Come on, go get dressed," he said, clapping his hands. "This sadist is hungry."

After a few mishaps getting up the stairs, Bella had managed to find clean clothes, and make it back down without tripping, falling, or otherwise embarrassing or damaging herself in front of her father.

They sat, quietly, mulling over the contents of their dinners at the diner. "So," said Charlie, taking a bite of salad, "I've given Jacob a key, just in case I can't be home on time. Didn't think you'd mind, all things considered," he added.

That explained him leaving from the front door, Bella thought. "Sure, thanks," she said, wondering how long that arrangement would last.

"You won't be able to drive for a while yet," he went on. "Alice offered to drive you to and from school. I said I'd check."

Bella folded her lips together, trying not to laugh.

"What's so funny?"

She looked at the ceiling, and let herself chuckle. When she met Charlie's eyes, his eyebrows were raised expectantly.

"Going to let me in on the joke?"

"It's just—well, you've given my boyfriend a key to the house, but you thought you needed to check in about my girlfriend driving me to school?"

Clearly, Charlie had not considered _that_ particular angle on the first point.

"I get it, Dad, I do," she said reassuringly. "Thank you—I know why you asked," she added more quietly. "It's OK. Alice and I, we're good. That'd be great if she could give me a ride."

Charlie looked down and stabbed his salad aggressively. "You think you're going to be ready for school, next week?" he asked.

Bella shrugged. "I guess so, we'll see. Just a half day to start—"

"At most," he said, swallowing another bite.

She nodded, feeling full, halfway through her meal.

Flagging the waitress, she asked her to pack the rest to go.

Charlie watched, but said nothing. _Too thin_ , he thought.

"Maybe," he started, twirling his fork in the remainder of his pasta, "it might be better to give Esme a key, instead of Jake?" he suggested.

"Sure dad, if it makes you feel better," Bella smirked.

She didn't say it, but it made her feel better too.


	14. Normal

**Normal**

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

School.

 _Why_ , Bella asked herself, _had she insisted on going back so quickly_?

Alice had been wonderful. Her presence was calm, but undemanding, and she made sure Bella didn't trip over anything on the way to her two classes. Still, the noise was overwhelming. _Had it been so loud before? How had she not noticed?_

The blessing of the concussion was not being called on in class, and being allowed to wait in the medical room between classes, or during, if she needed it.

And she was excused from PE. Forever. When the principal had explained she'd be given a standing granted, she almost wept with relief.

Her greatest worry, though, had so far not materialized.

Edward.

"So...will—," Bella had started.

"Nope," said Alice, "not today."

"Alice, I didn't ask you a question."

Alice turned to look at Bella, and then rolled her eyes. She tapped her head. "Sees the future? 'Remember?"

"Yes, I do," Bella smiled a little, still feeling the worry claw at her, "but when, then?"

"Tomorrow, he'll be back. And he will do his best to avoid you running into each other."

"Sure," Bella said, her throat a tight clench, nodding. "Thanks," she managed, a while later.

English class had passed without incident, and Bella was grateful she hadn't been called on to offer any insights. Mr. Berty had even provided notes for her to read later. His solicitousness was almost shocking, so used was she to his regular abruptness.

Chemistry was trickier. She couldn't keep track of the simple lab steps, and it was hurting to look at the page. Halfway through, she felt the tears come, surprised by the wetness on her paper. Mortified, she wiped them away, but not before the teacher had come alongside her. He spoke softly, and kindly, but Bella flushed in embarrassment. "Come back next class, when we're not doing lab work. We'll catch up on this another day," he said.

She stuffed her papers into her bag, and tried not to fall over getting out the door. It wasn't her most gracious exit.

Still fuming, she walked past the office and had to turn around to get to it, unpleasantly dislocated in the space. When she finally pushed the heavy door open, the quietness of the carpeted space was a relief.

The secretary was on the phone, and pointed to the medical room, her eyebrows raised in questioning. Bella nodded, and settled onto the naugahyde mattress, grateful to be prone.

"Bella, sweetie, wake up."

"Whuh?" Bella said, sitting up too fast. _My god_ , she thought, _will I ever stop sleeping_?

"Your ride's here, honey."

"Thanks," she said, swinging her legs over the side, steadying herself before trying to stand. She didn't bother trying to sling her backpack over her shoulder, figuring that given her deteriorating coordination, she was more likely to whack herself in the head again than anything else.

"I'll take that," a beautiful voice purred.

Bella stopped, frozen. She forced herself to look, to be sure.

"Alice had to leave," Edward said, apologetically, "Jasper was...unwell."

"Oh," she said. "I'll just wait, here, I guess," she mumbled, and turned to slink back into the medical room.

"Why don't I give you a ride home?" Edward suggested, very carefully, very softly.

"I can wait for someone else to give me a ride," she said, trying not to let the tears, her new and unwelcome friends, betray how fraught she was.

Watching the melodrama unfold before her, the secretary felt a spasm of pity for Edward, and heaping of scorn for Bella. _What was this girl missing? How hard had she hit her head?_

"I'll call your dad, sweetie. We'll figure something out." She was reaching for the phone, shaking her head in disbelief—so beautiful, this boy—

"It's fine, miss, I can give Bella a ride. Her dad's busy."

Bella shot him a dark look. She knew he wasn't going to give up easily. Looking at the clock—was it really only 11 am?—Bella weighed the option of waiting for the end of the school day, or suffering fifteen—no, ten, she reminded herself—minutes of silence with Edward. At least he would drive quickly.

"Fine," she huffed, and stormed out of the office, tripping over the door plate as she went.

Edward knew better than to try to steady her.

He followed at a discreet distance, but allowed himself to overtake her when they reached the lot.

"Just over here," he said, pointing.

He stopped himself from opening the door, or closing it for her, and busied himself with remembering what it felt like to touch her, to hold her hand while they were driving.

The flood of her scent in the car made his throat burn, and he took a deep, and careful breath before starting the ignition.

He stuck to the speed limit, or just under, the entire way.

Bella tried very hard not to be livid. Her efforts were disappointing.

"Are you—" he started.

"Just don't," she said, hoping the wall of anger would last until she got home.

"I—"

"No," she spat.

It was his turn to huff.

"Are you cold?" he rushed out.

She grimaced.

"It's just, you're shaking."

After a moment, she nodded.

He turned up the heat, and said nothing, counting the miles and minutes until he would have run out of pretense to be with her. He wondered if she was well enough to be alone, but considering she'd attended school, determined he had little ground to stand on.

Pulling up to the curb of her house, Edward allowed himself to look her. "Do you want me to wait with you?"

"No," she said, pained by his pity, and opened the car door. The tears were brimming. If she could make it to the door, she had a chance to preserve at least this small piece of dignity.

His hand stopped her. "Bella, please, wait."

"No," she said, "I can't."

"Please." He wasn't letting go.

She was shaking, and this time not from cold. "I. Can't." This time she made the words precise, but her rough voice rode over it all, and the tears were done waiting. She stopped, and let her arm relax, waiting for him to let go. Her eyes studied the ground.

Edward slowly released her arm, alarmed at the grip he had kept on it. "Sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to upset you."

"You're a little late on that front." She fumbled with the key in the lock, dropping it, and scrambling to pick it up. "NO!" She screamed, when he reached it for her. "JUST GO!"

He ignored her, and opened the door, handing back the key.

Bella's head was starting to hurt again, and she slumped into the living room, sliding onto the couch. _Why, why did he have to stay_? _Just to make her feel worse?_ _Perhaps—No_. She told herself. _No. Don't even think about that possibility. You're an idiot to._

MIserable, she got up and forced herself to open the fridge, and at least consider eating something. A fresh wave of hot anger washed over her. She slammed it closed and picked up the phone, punching in Jacob's number. Billy answered, and her heart sunk. Of course, he'd be at school. "Oh, hey Billy, it's Bella, I don't suppose—"

"He's right here. Came home for lunch."

Her heart did a happy double-take.

"Hey! You done already?" he asked.

"Yeah, just a half day today," she said, "um, don't suppose you're free this afternoon, are you?"

"I can ditch," he said, and Bella could hear Billy's stern, "no, you can't," in the background. "After school, then?" he mock sighed.

"That would be awesome," she smiled into the phone. Excellent. A distraction. And maybe, she thought, they could go grocery shopping. Buy something she chose herself.

Resigning herself to her bodily needs, Bella poured a bowl of cereal. She was fairly certain she'd bought at least that, if not the milk— _organic_ , _really?_

She turned on the TV, and determined that afternoon soaps did not constitute mental strain. When she woke up, the schmaltzy strains of _Days of Our Lives_ were peppered by an energetic knock at the door.

"Wake up sleepy-head!" he called.

She smiled as she opened the door, pleased on so many levels. Hadn't fallen down getting there. Hadn't woken up drooling, and had the company of a friend.

Jacob's hug, and the word, so solid in her mind, caught her unaware.

"Hey," she said, "thanks for coming."

"No problemo. Whatcha wanna do?"

"Well," she felt a bit embarrassed for asking for something so domestic, "would you mind taking me grocery shopping?"

"Aren't you guys stocked to the hilt? On the local Vampire charity list and all that?" Jacob regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth.

"Kinda, yeah, and that's my point," she blushed. "I'd really like to eat something I actually chose myself."

"Gotcha," he answered, relieved he hadn't blown their afternoon together.

They wandered through the aisles, in no hurry. He kept an arm around her, his other carrying the basket. It felt, Bella realized, comfortable. Comforting. They left with a hefty purchase of strawberries, cheerios, and ice cream. The ice cream was Jacob's choice.

He ate almost all of it, directly from the container, as they sat at the table, while Bella managed to do some of her homework, slowly, and laboriously.

She hadn't realised it, but she'd been readjusting the grip on her pencil continually, the coordination of her fingers faltering over, and over, and over again. The feeling of his hand, chilled, startled her. "You're looking pretty tired," he said.

Nodding, she sighed, and put it aside. He was right. She was. "Come on, take a break," he said, standing, holding an arm out for her. She stood slowly, but still stumbled, and his warm arm slipped under her.

They walked, in what felt like an awkward three legged race, to the couch, where, losing her footing again, she clutched at his shirt. "Sorry," she mumbled, laughing at herself, "I really am living up to my reputation as a clutz."

"You're not, Bella," he said quietly, and brought his lips to hers. She sucked in a sharp breath. She hadn't expected this. But she should have, she realized. And she wondered. Had she chosen— _this_? Because this was feeling...good.

His lips were pressed against hers, his hands easily taking the span of her ribs. They tightened as the kiss grew in intensity and time, and Bella felt secure in his grip. A vice against her own inept fragility.

But his energy was shifting, and the comfortable pressure was edging over into discomfort. Her breath was compressed by his hands, coming fast through her nose, and she pulled her head back, trying to dislodge his lips. It took several attempts before he realized what she was trying to do. When he loosened his grip, she stumbled back, and onto the couch.

A roaring pain shot up her back and around her head.

Gasping, Bella held her head with one hand, the other trying to soothe the lesser discomfort in her ribs. The screaming throb in her skull soon took the attention of both hands.

Jacob stood, uncertain, unsure how to help. "Bella, what's happening?"

"Charlie," she whispered, "get Charlie." The sound of her voice ricocheted inside her skull. She rolled onto her side, and pulled the afghan over her head.

She knew that there were more sounds unpacking themselves around the room, but she was sliding away from it all, deep into the place where nothingness lived, and nothing could reach her.

When she found herself at the surface of consciousness again, she was still in the couch, but laid straight on its length, the blanket wrapped around her tightly.

Jacob stood anxiously by the living room door, and Carlisle Cullen was dropping—a blood sample?—into a plastic bag.

"Hi Bella," he said quietly. "You had quite a turn." He waited, hoping she would say something, but she only nodded slightly.

Behind Carlisle, Jacob gave an apologetic shrug. "Your dad said to call him."

"Didn't know you made house-calls," Bella mumbled, the words feeling uneasy and slurred in her mouth.

Carlisle looked simultaneously relieved, and concerned at her speech. "Did you hit your head again?" he asked, suddenly serious, ignoring Jacob's snort.

Bella shook her head, but immediately regretted it, feeling like someone was playing tennis with her brain.

"Bad headache?" he asked.

"Yep," she whispered, her eyes squished shut against the nausea that was rolling up with the pain.

"I'm going to give you a shot, to help with the pain, if that's OK, Bella," he murmured quietly. She gave him a painless thumbs up.

She felt more of his hand than needle, and was grateful, moments later, when whatever it was he'd given her, began to work. It was pleasant, and colourful, and made her feel like she was dancing with butterflies.

"Whadya give me?" she slurred out.

"Morphine," he said quietly.

"Oh," she said, and slipped back into her pleasant delusion.

"She can't be alone," she heard him say to Jacob.

"Charlie's not—?"

"They're following a new lead," he said meaningfully, "he wasn't sure when he'd be back."

 _Of all the times_ , Jacob was thinking, _to not be able to stay_. He needed to pick up Billy, and he couldn't avoid patrol. He sighed, and resigned himself to accepting the help Carlisle was offering. "I can't, not tonight," he said, the note of anger a surprise to both of them.

"I'll take her to my place, then," Carlisle said, diplomatically stepping out of the room.

Jacob stood, watching Bella breath easily, her eyelids slung low, but not quite closed.

"This doesn't mean I like them," he whispered to her, "it just means I love you. Be well," and he kissed her forehead gently.

"I'm off," he muttered to Carlisle as he walked out the front door, leaving the gruff taste of bitterness in his wake.

Carlisle returned quietly, and listened. Her eyes were half open, but the deep and steady thrum of her heart told him she was far beyond the reach of consciousness. He said a silent prayer, asking for forgiveness for what he was about to do, and then pulled a speculum from his bag.

He was finished quickly, and was returning from washing his hands, and supplies, when he heard Edward close the door.

 _I'm not sure this is the best idea_ , he thought.

"And you think having Jacob here is?" came the tart reply. "Considering what you just did?" There was a thin layer of civility over Edward's anger, but just.

"We don't know what happened, Edward. And Bella hasn't said, or doesn't remember."

"She doesn't," he sulked.

"How—?"

"She's a terrible liar, Carlisle. Trust me."

Carlisle considered this.

"How's she doing?" Edward's tone softened, and his words would have curled around Bella's sleeping form, if they could.

"She's OK now, but she had a relapse."

Edward grunted.

"Did you hear?" Carlisle asked, not wanting, in some ways, to know.

Edward nodded. "He kissed her," he said, flicking his eyebrows up, "as only a horny werewolf can. I could hear her ribcage squeaking."

'Why didn't you say so?" Carlisle reproached him, moved quickly to the bed, where he gently slid Bella's shirt up to see for himself. Palpating gently and quickly, he pulled the shirt back down. "Topical bruising only," he said.

"Only," Edward muttered.

"Enough," Carlisle said, his patience thinning. "Go. Give yourself some space."

Edward stiffened. Preparing to resist.

"If you want to be with her, then wait until she's ready to see you. When she's _conscious_."

Edward didn't move.

 _Go_ , Carlisle thought, with more force than spoken words could carry.


	15. Patrol

Patrol

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

Aww, come on Jacob, Leah's voice cut into his thoughts, Give it a rest!

Nice, said Paul, come on, keep goin'!

Jacob would have blushed, if he could have. He really needed to learn how to master his thoughts.

I'll say, muttered Leah, her bitter agreement leaving a poor taste in all their mouths.

Hey, Seth called, dim still, in the background. Didn't Bella hit—?

Quiet! Came Sam's voice, the double-timbre making them wince in the separate locations. We've seen her around here, and near the rez. She's trying to spread us thin. We know she isn't after anyone at home, so we keep a tight patrol around Bella's until she goes, and then we move back home, unless we catch a scent of her. Clear?

Jacob, go back to what you were thinking about, goaded Paul.

Shut it Paul, came Sam's voice again. No distractions tonight. Stay focused.

There was an inaudible murmur of agreement, and the wolf mind became prevalent, blanketing the human desires, buried deeper within.

They watched, some time later, with silent sympathy, as Carlisle carried Bella to his car.

That sucks, dude, said Seth, sympathetically.

QUIET! Came Sam's voice, and Jacob could hear Seth whine.

The patrol passed without incident, and as Jacob sunk, fully clothed, into his own bed, he imagined the spare pillow he kept there was her, safe, in his arms. He refused to think of what other, colder arms might be trying to snake their way around her instead.


	16. Dreaming

**Dreaming**

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Author's note: I've had a few comments and PMs that say something like, "how come you don't have more comments on your stories?" I don't know, but if you feel that's a detriment, feel free to remedy it for me :-)

On a plot note, I think some of you might be gratified by this chapter. Enjoy! ~ Maple

* * *

Bella was getting tired of waking up in places she didn't remember going to sleep in.

It was particularly unsettling to be in one she didn't immediately recognize.

"You're OK, Bella," came Alice's voice.

The memory of the previous day was there, though, and she sighed in relief. Jake had called Charlie, and he'd summoned Carlisle. And she was now, she guessed, in Alice's bed. The stray thought, that vampires don't need to sleep, drifted across the landscape of her ruminations, and she blushed.

Alice misinterpreted it, "I'm so sorry, Bella, about yesterday, I—"

"It's OK, Alice, I figured someone got a paper cut or something," she waved her hand at her, and was pleased to see the movement wasn't uncomfortable. Maybe she could sit—oh, no. No sitting. A crushing pain circled her head, and a roiling boil of nausea made her curl up her legs.

"Carlisle," Alice called, standing up.

Closing her eyes, and focusing on breathing in, and out, Bella was grateful that Carlisle entered quietly, and spoke even more so. "Migraine, hmm?"

"Mm-hm," she said, making the smallest sound possible.

Carlisle insisted she eat before taking any pain medication, and Bella suffered through an awkward meal of toast and applesauce, eaten laying on her side. For once, she was grateful for the pills Carlisle presented. Blinds drawn, she settled into a less uncomfortable darkness.

The sounds of the house had shifted when she woke again.

Just call me Nappy McSwann, she joked with herself. Superpower: sleeping!

She giggled quietly, and Alice smiled to herself, wondering at the private joke, but didn't say anything.

"Alice?" Bella finally called.

"Yep."

"It's not like, next week or something is it? Again?"

"Nope. You've been asleep about an hour."

"And that would make it?"

"9:32 AM, on a fine Wednesday morning." She stopped, and then asked "You don't have plans to be somewhere, do you?—Wait—no, you don't," she concluded, in a satisfied tone.

"Is, um...everyone, here?" Bella asked. She didn't need to specify who she meant, in particular.

"Yes."

Nodding, tentatively to herself, Bella wondered if she could hide in Alice's room until Charlie picked her up. Or someone drove her home.

"Actually, Bella," Alice said, sighing, "I was hoping you would talk to him."

Bella closed her eyes again, and pushed the air out of her lungs.

"Things have been...difficult, since we came back."

Why? Bella wondered. It wasn't like he was being tortured by her presence.

"I think it might help him, move on," she concluded, quietly.

Help him move on? Was she kidding?

Stunned, hurt, and disoriented, Bella gave something that fell between a laugh, and a sob. She didn't know what way was up. "Sure, fine," she said. "I'll talk to him." What were a few more claw marks around the edges of the nothingness?

"Right now?"

"Why not, get it over it," Bella muttered.

"Do you want some—privacy—for this?" Alice's voice squeaked a bit over the last bit.

"Real privacy, or the kind where you hear everything we say, and pretend you didn't?"

"Real privacy, Bella." Alice sounded disappointed, like she'd expected Bella to expect more from them.

"Well, that would be novel," she said bitterly, and slipped her feet out of the bed, fumbling towards the bathroom in the darkness. Finding the light switch, she flicked it on, and hissed at the brightness. She opened her eyes again slowly, relieved that the pain was fleeting. Almost normal.

When she emerged, a cleaner, and tidier version of herself, she found a set of clothes laid out on the bed—none of them hers. A blue blouse, jeans, and—Oh, Alice, Bella thought, what kind of life do you think I lead?—a matching set of lace panties, and a bra. Making a small sigh of exasperation-come-resignation, she dressed herself.

The house was silent, and she hesitated, awkwardly considering if she was supposed to find Edward, or he would come to her. Deciding it would be best to have a room to retreat to, if she needed it, she made her way downstairs. The sun was making unexpected appearances through breaks in the cloud cover. It explained why they'd all been home.

The living room looked as she remembered it, and the memories of her birthday roused themselves. She'd suppressed so much of that night, it hurt just to be in the same space, let alone with the same people.

She prepared herself for things to become more painful, and sat, perched, on one of the two chairs that backed up to the south window. "Edward, you wanted to talk?" she called.

He was there, suddenly, and silently. It made her start.

"Sorry," he murmured.

Her heart contracted.

She made herself look at him, but didn't know what to say. How can I help you? Fine weather we've been having? You broke my heart, here—take another stab at it!

Crap. Why had she said yes to this?

"I wanted to thank you," he said.

She looked at him, confused. "For what?"

"For saving me."

What had happened on that trip? She thought, suddenly panicked. "Oh," she said, "that."

"You don't remember any of it, do you?" His voice was gentle, understanding even. His eyes shifted sympathetically.

"Of course I do." He can't read your thoughts.

"Bella, you're a terrible liar. Your heart rate goes up, you blush, and you brush your hair back with your two front fingers. It's OK, you don't remember. I won't say anything."

She looked at him carefully, trying to steady her breathing. She was sure her heart was smaller than it had been at the beginning of the conversation.

"No," she finally admitted. It was a relief to say it.

"I went to kill myself Bella. With the Volturi's help."

"Why?" She asked, horrified.

"I thought you were dead."

"And?"

"And?" he said, "what do you mean, and?"

"Did you think I'd killed myself?" She asked, "over you? And you felt guilty?"

"No to both" he shook his head, "I thought you were dead." He paused, remembering the bleak despair. "I just...couldn't imagine existing in a world where you didn't."

Bella was trying to piece the broken pieces of this logic together. She gave up. "Why?"

"Because I love you, Bella. Why else?"

"But you—you left. You told me you didn't love me," her voice was rising, but she knew better than to try to stand up, to run away. Why was he playing with her like this? Why was she letting him play with her?

Edward was watching her face crumple in on itself. He wanted to take her in his arms, hold her, unfold the lines of it, smooth it out with his hands, and kiss her until she understood what she meant to him.

"I never stopped loving you Bella. I left—we left, because being with me endangered you." He rested his fists on the chair arms. "If I'd had any idea the danger I'd left you in—and with—werewolves—for protection, I never would have gone. I had to try to give you a chance at a normal human life."

"You said I wasn't good enough. That you didn't love me." Bella said the words, and felt the sting of this mantra rattling inside her. She knew them well—well enough that she didn't need words to feel them.

"Bella," Edward said, getting to his knees in front of her, "I never stopped loving you, and I'm sorry I lied. I know it's not enough to say it. I love you still. I don't think I'll ever be able to stop, but I'll respect your wishes, whatever they are."

His hands had found hers, and she marvelled at their cold perfection.

"You love me."

"I do."

She still couldn't assemble it all.

"I don't understand," she finally managed.

"How can I help you to?"

She didn't hesitate with her answer.

"Kiss me."

And he did.

The sweet air swirled around them, her lips forming around his. She let her hands slide onto her back, and prayed, with a desperate hope, that she wasn't dreaming.

She made him stop, pulling away. "Oh, god, I'm dreaming," and burst into tears.

"You're not," Edward said. "How can I prove it to you?" He held her close, rocking her side to side, letting his hands run through her hair. How could he prove it to her?

The tears were abating. "I don't know," she said. "But don't let the dream end," and pulled his face towards hers again.

The hours passed in this rhythm of touch and talk, until Edward heard her heartbeat become erratic. He pushed her gently back, "are you feeling OK?" he asked, his eyebrows close together. He kept hold of both hands, listening to her breath regulate again.

"I'm with you. I feel amazing," she smiled, the tears pooling in the corners of her eyes.

"Can I get you something to eat, or drink?" he asked, concerned, looking at the sky. Mi-day. She needed to eat.

He went to move away, but she clung to his hand. "Don't go!" There was a true note of panic in it.

He turned back to her immediately, and picked her up in one arm, carrying her to the kitchen, where he set her down on a chair, kissing the top of her head. "You need to eat," he said, and kept one finger in contact with her while he fished out juice, crackers, cheese, fruit.

Her heart rate slowed as she ate, and he breathed his own sigh of relief. She was so thin. He'd been able to count her ribs when Carlisle had checked them.

He wondered if they were bruised badly.

He wondered what she would tell Jacob.

And he wondered what she remembered, about Jacob.

He didn't ask.

They talked longer, still at the table, still not breaking their physical contact. He was happy to have her there, that she was eating, even a little. He was happy simply watching her breath. To watch her smile. To know that he made her smile.

His pocket buzzed loudly, breaking their quiet contentment.

"Do you mind?" he asked, "I think it's Alice."

She shook her head, smiling, watching him.

It was from Alice. I'm so excited for you! the text read. The next buzz was, OK to come home?

Edward asked Bella, "You ready to share the news in person with them all?"

She nodded, "I'm dreaming, so whatever."

He looked at her, tilting his head. "Do you really think that?"

She nodded again.

He decided to take the risk. "Do you remember waking up in the hospital, the first time? With me?"

"No," she said, "I woke up and Charlie was there."

He shook his head. "No, you woke up when I was there. You were very upset, and you pinched yourself—twice. I wouldn't let you do it a third time."

Bella reached over with her free hand and pinched her arm. She frowned. It hurt. She picked a new spot and did it again. Still not convinced, she reached for a new one, but Edward stopped her. Again.

"I don't want you to hurt yourself just to prove you're awake. You are. This is real. My love for you is as real as anything you can touch."

She touched his face, tracing the line of his jaw with her finger. It felt real.

If it was real, then—she would need to tell Jacob.

She would need to end...whatever it was, with him. Her innards lurched sideways.

"Penny for your thoughts?" he asked.

"If I'm not dreaming, then I'll need to tell Jacob," she said.

"Yes," he said, and waited, his insides curling, and twisting, trying not to scream "NO!" at her. What if—no, he told himself. He couldn't think that, and stay sane. He had to let her remember it on her own.

"And I'll need to do it alone," she said pointedly.

He didn't say no, but she could see it on the tip of his tongue—ready to slip over at the slightest equivocation. Inside, he was cringing, his head in his hands, hiding from his own need to protect her. From anything.

"They're back," he said instead, and Alice came to greet them, hugging Bella, and mouthing "I told you so," at him, winking. "I'm glad you were right, Alice," he said.

Edward was happy to temporarily shelve his worry. He basked in his family's joy. In Emmett's clear relief.

When they'd been feted with the family's good wishes, everyone found something else to do. In private, leaving Bella and Edward the run of the house. Space.

She was flagging though. He could see the heaviness in her eyelids, the words slurring together as she tried to stay awake.

"It's OK, go to sleep," he said, "I'll be here when you wake up."

She looked distrustful of this, but knew she couldn't fight it much longer. "Hold me?" she asked. He answered by sweeping her up in his arms, and carrying her up to bed. He heard Emmett's distant "Woot!" in the background, and smiled. Bella hadn't caught it.

"What's so funny?" she asked, resting her head against his chest.

"Emmet's thrilled to have the butt of all his jokes back," he said.

She smiled, and yawned, sleep claiming her before they reached the bed.

* * *

This author's current writing playlist (because someone asked): Jade Bird's "Something American," Amy Shark's "Night Wanderer," and anything by Florence and The Machine.


	17. Hard Truths

**Hard Truths**

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Warning: Rated M for sensitive content.

* * *

He was still there when she woke up. The headache she'd braced for, was gone though, and she breathed a contented sigh into his chest. When she began to shiver though, he insisted she get up, and eat something.

"What _is_ it with you and the food?" she asked, a little perturbed by the insistence.

He looked at her, surprised, and lightly ran a finger down the side of her ribcage, feeling the interstitial spaces beneath the light fabric of her shirt. "You're so thin. You barely have enough body fat to regulate your own temperature," and he gestured to the blanket over her. "Even with this, you're still cold."

"You know," she smirked, "some women work hard to get to this state."

"And they're fools," he said, shaking his head.

She didn't resist when he pulled her up, and walked her downstairs to the kitchen.

At home now, alone—truly alone, she'd insisted on that—she was waiting for Jacob. She had a few minutes before he arrived, and she forced herself to rehearse the difficult words she needed to say.

"Oh God," she muttered, head in her hands, "how am I going to do this?"

"Do what?"

 _Oh no. Not yet._

"Hey," she said, suddenly breathless, turning to face him.

"Hey yourself," he said, reaching to pull her into his arms. She stuffed her head into his chest, avoiding the trajectory of his lips.

He rubbed her back, feeling her quick breaths. She seemed better, physically, but she was upset. That much was clear. Had something happened, at the Cullens?

"What's wrong?" he asked, "something happen you want to talk about?"

She nodded, and they sat together on the edge of the bed.

"I haven't been completely honest with you, Jake," she started, a whisper above inaudible.

His heart took two beats in one.

"OK, I'm listening."

"I don't remember the last few weeks," she said.

He laughed in relief. "Cat's outta the bag on that one Bella, I think we're good."

"No," she said. "I mean," she sighed, trying to explain, "I remember jumping off the cliff, and I remember coming home and finding Alice. I remember Edward being here," she pointed to where he'd stood, "and I remember you telling him to leave. And then I remember waking up."

"Oh," he breathed out. "You don't—"

"No," she said shaking her head. "Those things, they're it."

"That's totally normal, Bella. You've had a concussion," he said gently. Thinking for a moment, he asked. "Does anyone else know?"

She shook her head, feeling the twinge of guilt. It wasn't entirely true. Edward had challenged her lie, but she hadn't told him all of it.

"When I woke up, everyone seemed to know we were together. I was afraid that if I let them know how bad it was, Charlie would—I don't know, send me away, or keep me locked up in the hospital. I wasn't thinking very clearly about it, I see now, but—"

"It's OK Bella," he said, squeezing her hand.

"No," she said, "it really isn't." She stood up, pacing to the window, holding onto the frame, and taking in air she couldn't quite consume enough of. "Did we—were we...?" Her cheeks flushed as she looked for the words.

"Together?" he supplied, his voice low, hushed. Reverant.

She nodded.

Jacob's "yes," was quiet, and his body preternaturally still.

"When?" she managed, trying to regulate her breathing through her nose.

"After you jumped off the cliff, before I took you home," he said slowly. Softly. He wanted to croon that it had been both their firsts, that they'd both cried with the joy of it, that she'd slept in his arms afterwards. He said none of it, but waited, terrified by the blankness of her memory.

"Was that the only time?"

"No," he said, keeping his voice even, "the morning when—when I told him to go."

Her brow furrowed at that, like she was trying to make sense of things, put it all together. "You're sure?" she said.

"How could I not be?" he whispered.

She was pacing now, agitated. "Jacob," her voice broke, and the tears breaking free, "why do I—why do I have stitches inside me?"

It was his turn to look sharply at her, try to loosen the confusion taking root. "What?"

Her arms were wrapped around herself, fists clutched at her ribs, "When I woke up, I had stitches. Inside."

"Are you sure?" he asked.

She looked at him.

"Sorry," he mouthed.

"I don't know, Bella, I'm sorry." He shrugged, his open hands empty of answers. "Would Alice know, if anything—?"

"We weren't apart, as far as I can tell, the entire time," Bella shrugged, "we flew there, we got him, we came back."

He nodded. "When we were...together, after—you were bleeding," he said, his cheeks turning a dusky bronze, "I thought that was normal...the first time," the words trailed off.

Bella swallowed, nodded. She still had to tell him.

"Jake," she said, calling his attention back. "I care about you so much."

"No," he said, standing, shaking his head, his voice firm, "you're not doing this. No way."

"But I don't feel the way about you that you feel about me," she finished.

He looked her squarely in the eyes, "You're what, a week out from waking up from something coma-like, right? And you've been feeling confused, uncertain, not yourself?"

She didn't bother to acknowledge it. He knew this much was true, but she held his gaze.

"Give it time."

"No," she said. "I know what I'm feeling, and who for."

He blew out his breath, and hissed it back in again through his nose.

Rubbing his hands over his face. "He told you he loves you."

"He _does_. And I love him."

"The asshole who abandoned you, who left you for months—with a vampire after you no less—and he comes back into town and tells you he wants you, and boom. You're at his heel."

Her face darkened at the description, and an angry blush rode up her face. She'd know this would be hard. It didn't make it any easier to hear his anger.

What she didn't expect though, was for him to take her hands and softly kiss them. "You deserve so much better Bella," he said, "even if he wasn't a monster, you deserve so much more."

And he showed her exactly what he thought she deserved.

The kiss hurt. His hands, and body, unreserved, pressed her to him in an unforgiving grip. She could feel the throb of blood, trapped in her lower arms, stuck beneath the clench of his hands.

The ending was as violent the beginning, and she stumbled backwards, away from him, fresh tears blurring her vision.

"I would never hurt you Bella," he gritted through his teeth. "Not like he has." She could see that his cheeks were shiny, like she could feel hers were.

He moved to the window, turning back to her, one foot on the sill, "if you want to know who hurt you Bella, ask him. It's his father that probably stitched you up." And then he was gone, another shadow on the street, the lawn, and then into the woods.

 _No_ —she told herself. _Never_. Edward would _never_.

But someone had. And she couldn't remember who.

And she wondered if Jacob was right.

* * *

Author's note: I know a few of you have been having the "wait, I thought Jake—huh, what happened? I'm confused!" moment. Bella _is_ confused, and as this is her story, her confusion colours what we see. What did happen? She doesn't remember yet, and until she does, we rely on the wildly different interpretations of Jacob, and Edward, and how they influence her.


	18. Kisses

Kisses

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

She was curled on the bed, arms around her legs, searching for the threads of memory that eluded her. No prompting she could give herself pulled at any of them, and so she was surprised, her mind pinching at the air of memory, when her pocket buzzed.

Alice had insisted it was an old phone they didn't need anymore. Bella was sure that "old" to Alice meant six months old, at best. She'd tried to say no, but for once, there were several compelling, and logical reasons for her accepting one.

"You can't drive, you've been having crippling migraines, and Charlie is working crazy overtime. I think everyone, including you, will feel better knowing you can call for help, even if you're in the bathroom. Just keep it with you. At all times," she added, pressing it into her hand.

It was a small, sleek package. Navy Blue. Flipping it open, she looked at the unfamiliar configuration. "I'll show you how to use it. And text," Alice said, smiling. She made Bella use the pre-programmed numbers, and try different features, until she was confident she could, and would use it.

"Hello?"

"Alice could see you again. Can I come over?"

"Please," Bella said, feeling relieved to hear his voice. It still felt like such a miracle. And to think, he'd be here soon.

"You have five minutes," he said, and the call ended.

She opened the window wider to her room, and quickly showered, and changed into her own clothes. Alice wouldn't approve, but the soft cotton of her old jeans, and loose t-shirt felt like home. She had just finished brushing her teeth in the bathroom, when she stepped into the hall. He looked like a statue, perfectly sculpted in the lamp-light. His features softened when he saw her. He didn't wait for her to come to him, but scooped her up gently, settling them both into the familiar arc of the rocking chair.

Their first kiss finished, he snatched the blanket off her bed, and was just about to wrap it around her when he saw her arm.

Gently, very gently, he lifted her elbow. A faint, but angry hand mark rested just below her bicep. Had he—?

"Did he hurt you?" he asked, his voice softer than usual.

"No," she said, shaking her head, blushing. "He...kissed me," she said uncertainly, wishing she'd kept it to herself, waiting for him to vanish again. She could see him tucking this piece of information away, and then he wrapped the blanket around her.

"Better?" he asked.

She breathed out a sigh. "Yes," she whispered, "you're here. It's better."

They were nestled, like the half-shape of two Russian dolls, their forms curved around each other, slowly rocking back and forth, the rhythm of the movement apace with the even beat of her heart.

"Do you want to talk about what happened?" He asked, "with Jacob?"

"No," she said, "I just want to be with you, Edward."

"You can tell me anything, Bella," he kissed her. "I'm not going anywhere. Ever."

"Good," she said.

And then, as if on cue, her stomach made a low growly rumble.

He didn't bother asking, but carried her, swaddled in the blanket, downstairs, and set her on the couch. "Something from the fridge, or...pizza?" he asked.

"I don't think I can eat much pizza," she said.

"Charlie will be home later. I seem to remember he's a pizza guy."

"He will," she said, "how do you—?"

"Alice," he smiled.

"Of course," she smiled.

"So, Pizza?" he asked, pulling out his phone.

"Sure," she smiled, grateful he wouldn't be getting up to go to the kitchen. Away from her.

The order in, he put the phone away, and held her closer, hoping the contact would lessen the difficulty of his next request.

"Bella," he said, feeling her drift.

"Mmm-hmm," she answered, so close to the edge of sleep, just about over—

"You need to tell Charlie."

And the somnolent cliff disappeared.

"Tell him what? About us?"

"No, about what you do remember," Edward said, breathing out slowly. He could feel her tense beneath the blanket.

She sat up to face him. "Why? Why do I need to?"

"He's your father. He loves you."

"There are a lot of things I haven't told him Edward. Things I couldn't tell him. Not safely. And I wanted to." She watched him flinch, just so slightly, and felt ashamed for saying it. "Why does he need to know?"

There was no help for it. "How were you planning to explain about you and Jacob? About us?" He was gentle with his words, but they caught her off guard.

She hadn't thought about it. Didn't want to think about it. The possibilities and means for explaining were becoming muddled, confused, a warren of options she couldn't find her way back through.

She shook her head, and he stilled it with a hand. "I just think," he said, "it would be better for him to hear it from you, than anyone else. Better than to discover it himself, in another way."

She could see that, yes, it would be better.

Still.

She nodded.

"When will you tell him?"

"What day is it again?" she asked, squinting at the calendar on the far wall.

"It's still Wednesday," he answered, smiling a little. "He mentioned to Carlisle that he would be home for a bit tomorrow morning. So he can take you to see him," he said.

"Really?" she laughed.

"Yes, what's so funny about that?"

"It's just, I'm eighteen. And he's taking me to the doctor. Like I'm a little kid."

"Concussion is pretty serious, Bella. He's right to be careful."

"Why is he taking me? I thought Alice was my designated driver."

"He didn't want her to miss school. I think he's feeling pretty bad about how much he's asked of us, or, accepted, since we've been back."

Bella thought about this for a bit. "I suppose it won't hurt to tell Charlie. Explain why Jacob and I aren't together." She frowned, "I think we might need to wait to tell him about us. You're, um," she mumbled, "in his bad books," she said, for lack of a better term.

"I do believe, the exact words he yelled at me the night we came back were, 'don't-you-damn-well-set-a-foot-inside-this-door.' So, yes, I fully expect to have to wait a while. That doesn't mean I won't be here." He reached over and kissed the top of her head.

She tilted her head back to meet his lips, feeling him lean her back, his hand holding her head, their bodies comfortably intertwined. Edward's weight was resting over hers, and she could feel the extent of his desire.

Her hands were beginning to stop coordinating with her mind, though, and her legs were shivering and slackening, their nerves deadening. Her lips grew loose beneath him, and he stopped, alarmed by her suddenly plummeting heart rate.

"Bella?"

Her eyes were half closed, her body chilled, shivering.

He laid her back flat, and propped her feet up, making sure the blanket was securely tucked around her. He spoke softly to her the entire time, telling her she was going to be OK. He rubbed her hands, and her feet, counting seconds, then minutes, and then tens of minutes. At twenty five minutes in, he called Carlisle.

He arrived with Alice, and after a quick assessment, pronounced, "It's mild shock," confirming what Edward had suspected. "She'll be fine after she rests."

"I'll put her to bed, then," he said.

"Uh, Edward?" Alice asked, eyebrows raised.

"I wasn't going to—" he protested, giving her a dark look.

"Yeah, I know. That's because I'm going to get her ready for bed. You can administer goodnight kisses when she's decent," Alice chirped, slipping Bella from his arms.

"Alice can wait with her until Charlie gets here," Carlisle said.

"I told Bella—" Edward started.

"Yes, and you can wait outside," Carlisle said firmly. Watching Alice disappear beyond the top stair, he added in a voice so low that even Alice wouldn't hear, "what happened right before this?" he asked, gesturing towards where Bella had been.

"We were kissing, and then—" Edward waved his hand at the couch, as if that would explain it.

"And?" Carlisle prompted.

"We were laying down—"

Carlisle's eyes opened wider at this statement. "You didn't think, considering what we suspect, that, perhaps—that—might not be the best idea?" His exasperation was thinly contained.

"You think I caused this?"

"If we're right, and her mind is protecting itself from remembering that, then yes." Carlisle could see Edward's face darken, brooding over the possibilities for swift justice. "We don't know anything for sure, Edward. We suspect. And until she says so, we know nothing. We say nothing." He looked at Edward, roiling in his own rage, "Edward—you can't plant the suggestion. It has to be something she recalls herself."

Edward took his anger and frustration outside, and threw himself into circling the house. Watching. Waiting. Ostensibly, for Victoria. But, in truth, he'd have happily destroyed the first stray werewolf that crossed his path. None obligingly presented themselves, and so he spent the night circling, brooding, and planning.

* * *

Author's notes: felt a little less certain about this chapter. It had some needed bits, though, so I'm curious to hear your thoughts.

Tell me, would you rather have all the chapters up at once, as soon as they're ready, or, to have them doled out on a specified schedule (once a week, twice a month, etc.)? This writer wonders.


	19. Harder Truths

**Harder truths**

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

Bella was woken by the sound of Charlie, rattling into her room with a tray. "Morning sleepyhead," he said quietly, watching her move slowly.

"Hey, Dad," she answered, looking at the tray. "What's all this for?"

"Alice said you weren't feeling very well last night. Thought I'd spare you the broken leg heading downstairs."

The day before swam up before her, and with a jolt, she wondered if it had been a dream. She didn't remember getting to bed. Her heart rate was rising.

"Eat up," Charlie said, "and get dressed, and then I'd like to get you in for a check up."

"Sure," she said, holding back the tears, "yeah."

She shifted herself up in bed, and said "Thanks," with a polite smile, taking the tray.

When he closed the door, she set it down, and put her hands over her face, trying to muffle her emotion.

"Bella, what's wrong?" There were cool hands on her arms.

"Oh!" She startled, "I thought it was a dream!"

"No," he sighed into her hair, "I'm here, you're OK."

Edward saved the tray with one hand, while she clung to him, assuring herself it was, indeed real. When she felt like he wouldn't vanish beneath her fingers, she pulled back a bit, and asked, "what happened, last night? I remember you being here, and then, I woke up."

He considered withholding the truth, but couldn't. He took a deep breath in, and breathed out, "we were kissing, and you went into shock."

 _Shock?_ She'd gone into shock from kissing Edward? Jacob's words trickled down her consciousness. Had something happened, with Edward, on their trip? _No_ , she told herself. _He wouldn't hurt me._ She looked at him, wondering.

"Edward, is there something that you know, that you're not telling me?"

"Quite a few things, after a hundred years, yes. Can you be a bit more precise?" He asked, drily.

She sensed his evasion, but smiled at it anyway. The relief was fleeting though, and she asked again. "Is there? Something that happened while we were away?"

"You don't remember that, at all?"

"No," she said, "I remember finding Alice, and I remember Jacob telling you to leave." His voice cracked over those last words. "And then I remember waking up with Charlie. Everything else is...gone."

He took in a deep breath.

"What do you want to know?"

"Everything."

"OK," he said. "I will happily tell you all of it, but Charlie is bound and determined to leave here in half an hour, to get you to your appointment. And you need to eat." He picked up a piece of toast and offered it to her. "Eat, and I will tell you all."

It seemed like a fair deal, and she ate, and listened, as he described everything that had happened, carefully evading the promise they'd made to the Volturi. That could wait.

She was relieved, and surprised by it. The doubt Jacob had planted—that Edward had planted, by leaving, was there, but its roots were well loosened.

She was more determined than ever, to find out from Carlisle what he knew.

"Bella?" came Charlie's voice. "You ready?"

"Almost!" She called back, shuffling out of bed. "Give me five minutes."

Edward helped her stand, and she was grateful the light headedness was at least becoming less frequent.

"I'll be here when you get back," he whispered. "Do you want me to be at the hospital, too?"

"Actually, I'd like some privacy." She sounded abashed, almost, asking for this.

"You don't have to be shy about asking for privacy, Bella," he smiled, "you're entitled to it."

"Kinda hard with a mind reader around," she said, returning the expression.

"Carlisle is very good at keeping things to himself," he smiled back. "Your secrets are safe with him."

 _Good_ , she thought. _I need them to be._

The ride with Charlie was quiet, and calm. He surprised her with a gruff hug at Carlisle's office door.

"What's with all the emotion Dad?" she asked, not unpleased by it, returning the warm wrap of his arms.

"I've been leaving you alone too much," he said, "I'm sorry. It's just—"

"People are dying and it's your job to stop them?"

"Yeah," he smiled, "something like that."

"It's OK, Dad. The Cullens have been really great—I'm good."

"Call me when you're done? I'll drive you home."

"Sure."

He squeezed her hand, and turned to go. She took a deep breath in, and knocked on the door.

Carlisle opened it with a smile. "Come on in, Bella."

After a few tests, he smiled, clearly pleased. "Youth has its benefits," he said, "you're doing really well." Bella wasn't sure she agreed with him on this, but cocked an eyebrow, waiting for more information. "Your brain is healing nicely, much faster than I expected." He was making quick notes. "You can probably start driving in the next week or two."

"How come I'm still sleeping so much then?" she asked.

"Your brain is still healing, and you still need lots of rest, but your rate of healing is faster than I would expect, even for a person your age." He paused, and frowned at his notes.

"What?" She asked.

"Just a stray thought. Some research I need to follow up on."

"Carlisle?"

"Mm-hmm," he said, finishing up his quick scribble.

"I woke up with stitches. Inside. And I have no idea how they got there."

He stopped writing, and put the file down.

"I stitched you, Bella," he said softly.

"Why?"

"You had internal lacerations."

"And how do those happen?"

"You don't remember," he said.

"No," she shook her head.

He was calm, even, professional—carefully detached—in his tone, when he answered. "They usually occur during childbirth, or because of sexual violence—assault."

Bella swallowed. One of two options, and the first wasn't possible.

"Are you sure?" she asked.

Carlisle paused, carefully considering how to frame this. She was trying to hold onto some kind of deniability. Could he offer her that? Clearly, she needed it on some level. And yet, she was asking.

"Do you have any idea how you hit your head?" He asked, instead of answering her question.

"No, and I don't want to change the subject—"

"I think the two might be related."

"How?" Her forehead was creased with a worried set of lines, and he could see her shifting, arms pressed tightly around herself.

"I don't think you'll like the answer," he said, feeling himself move into territory he'd hoped to avoid for a much longer time.

"Why?" She asked. Her voice was firm. It was a question that demanded an answer.

"When Jacob visited you here, I asked him if he had any idea when, or where you'd hit your head. I asked specifically about the cliff, and that triggered a memory for him. One that he didn't speak about." He paused here, waiting for her to make the connection.

"But that Edward overheard," she said, eyebrows furrowed.

"Jacob _did_ know when you hit your head Bella, but he just didn't realise it. Edward said he saw you together, falling off of a couch. Your head made quite a sound when it hit the floor, but Jacob was...preoccupied when it happened."

 _What would distract someone so much that...Oh_ , Bella realized. She felt her words slip away in an unmitigated wave of horror, opening, and then closing her mouth.

She sat there for some time, and Carlisle watched her closely, taking in the erratic rhythm of her heart. Her eyes, though swollen, were still focusing, and clear. He kept his own anguish carefully compartmentalized, and wondered if he could convince her to talk to one of the hospital counsellors.

"Who else knows?" She finally asked.

"Edward knows."

She nodded, but no emotion showed. Her voice flat, she asked "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Concussions alone don't cause catatonia, or coma, but with trauma, they can. I was worried—and I'm still worried, about a relapse."

They had known. They had both known, and they hadn't told her. They had worried for her safety before, and made plans without consulting her. And they'd left. How long would it be before something else like that happened?

"I need to go home," she said quietly, standing.

"Bella, would you consider speaking with one of our counsellors here? Maybe even before you go?" He asked, standing with her.

She laughed, a bitter and disbelieving sound. "You think," she said, "that talking to someone will make this better?" And having no hope that her own words would reach him, she shook her head and left. She didn't stop anywhere, just kept walking, until the soft dampness of the rain told her she was outside.


	20. Half Truths and Lies

**Half Truths and Lies**

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

By the time Bella had walked home, she was wet, and shivering. Closing the front door behind her, she hung her jacket on the back of a chair to dry, and kicked off her soggy shoes by one of the heating vents.

She didn't stop in her room, but went straight to the bathroom, and turned on the shower. Still fully dressed, she sat in the shower, waiting for there to be enough warmth for her to even contemplate removing her clothes. Under the spray, she considered what she knew, and who knew what.

Charlie knew nothing, and it was best to leave him that way.

Jacob knew more now, but not what he'd done. And telling him—what would that accomplish? Disbelief, repudiation. Accusations that Edward was jealous, and vengeful.

And Edward. He'd known, and said nothing. And Carlisle too. Did the others know? Had Carlisle been truthful?

The warmth had seeped through enough, that she could remove her clothes. She shucked off her shirt, letting it splatter onto the tub bottom. Looking down, the faint marks of yesterday were dark bruises on her arms. Her ribs had faint purple splotches.

He hadn't meant to hurt her, yesterday. _Had he?_ He was angry, but—it was harder to convince herself, that he would never hurt her. Clearly, he had. Yesterday. She tried to remember what had happened, after she jumped from the cliff. The water, yes, and its strange fire. The painful breaths on waking. Bits of the ride to Jacob's house. But the rest, still an emptiness.

She shuffled awkwardly out of her pants next. No marks there. Just the ones inside.

She swiveled away from those thoughts. Something shimmered beneath the surface of remembering, and she left it well alone. _No_ , she told herself, _when I remember, I will be ready. Not now._

Warm enough to turn off the water, Bella stepped onto the mat, drying herself off with a towel. Wrapped in the one she'd used, she stepped quickly to her room, hoping her robe was clean. She couldn't remember if she'd—

"Why didn't you call for a ride?" he asked.

Startled, she fumbled with the towel, catching it before it slipped off.

"Sorry," he said, holding out her robe.

"Thanks," she said, feeling his fingers brush hers. God—his scent made her skin tingle in confusing ways.

She wrapped herself in the robe, sliding the towel off, then wrapping it neatly around her hair.

"I wanted some time to think," she answered him, but didn't move any closer, folding her arms.

Edward was watching, wondering what was keeping her so distant. "It's a long walk, in the rain," he said, letting her keep her distance.

"I need to tell Charlie I'm home," she mumbled, and went downstairs to use the phone in the kitchen.

When she returned, she almost expected him to be gone. Almost. But he was there. As real as ever.

Her anger had not abated.

"You knew," she said, sitting down on the bed, arms around her folded legs.

He sat as well, across from her, on the rocking chair, and nodded.

"And you didn't tell me," she continued on. She swallowed. "Just like before, when you...left."

He looked up at her suddenly. "I'm not leaving, Bella."

"Maybe not this time," she said. "You say you love me, but you clearly don't trust me. Not enough to tell me the truth."

"That's not true," he said, too quickly.

"Isn't it?" She looked at him. "What else have you not told me? What other ugly things have you decided are too hard for me to hear?"

"Did Carlisle explain why we didn't tell you?"

"Oh yes, he did," she said, in a tone that made it very clear how she felt about them.

"We did it to protect you, Bella."

"I think that's what you said about leaving me, too."

He flinched.

"You're right," he said, "and I was wrong to do that. I'm not leaving."

"But you're still doing it," she countered. "You say you love me. If you do, then you have to trust me, and trust me to handle things that you don't want me to know. Promise me that you will tell me the truth. The whole truth," she added.

He nodded, and getting to his knees, took both her hands in his. "I promise to tell you the truth, and to not deceive you, in any way."

"Thank you," she said, breathing out a deep sigh. "Now tell me everything you haven't already." She almost took all the air back in watching him. Would he? _Could_ he?

He closed his eyes. _Not this_ , he thought, _not now_.

"You promised," she said, her worry growing.

"In Italy," he started, "the Volturi released us, only after we promised to change you."

She stared at him, saying nothing.

"Is there anything else?" She asked, her voice faint.

"Aside from damning you to an eternity of lifeless immortality? No," he said bitterly. "We don't have to, Bella. There are ways around it. We can find them."

"No," Bella said. "It's what I wanted, I just, I'm just...surprised. I expected something else."

"Like what?" he asked.

"Something worse, like I'd killed someone, or something."

He barked out a laugh in disbelief, and he pulled her to him, the laughter subsiding into a quiet togetherness. They leaned their foreheads together, hands clasped, still, on her lap.

"Why didn't you tell me, about what you knew, about…"

"Bella," he said, sliding off the chair, and wrapping his arms around her. "Can you imagine how that would have sounded? The man who left you, coming back to find you in another man's arms, and accusing him of—"

No one had said the word yet.

So Bella did.

"Rape?"

"Yes," he said quietly, making fists with his hands behind her back, "And how utterly spurious, and jealous that would sound? Totally baseless." He looked up at her.

She conceded his point. It would have sounded ludicrous. It still seemed ludicrous. She stopped her thoughts there, and made herself return to the present.

"And yesterday? Why not then?"

He closed his eyes. "I wanted to, but I was worried about the effect it would have on you."

"What exactly did you think would happen?"

"I was afraid you'd disappear again," he said quietly, "like you did before. Your mind, Bella, it is protecting itself. And to have heard, the way I did. No one _should_ hear what others think. The whole situation—the potential for harm, of you—has only happened because of me."

"I think," she said quietly, "perhaps Jacob has a greater responsibility for it, than you." She paused a moment, and added, "I don't think he knows what he did, Edward." She blushed. "I didn't know, we'd—I didn't know, until I asked him, yesterday."

"His ignorance doesn't excuse him," he growled, and Bella stopped moving, startled by the depth of anger she could hear in his tone.

"You're not—you're not going to go do something to him, are you?" She asked, suddenly worried he would. Without asking her. "You promised you'd be honest," she reminded him.

"No," he said, slipping onto the bed with her, arms circling around her. "I won't. Not unless you want me to." Then he added, "But, if I'm being honest, I would really like you to want me to."


	21. Can we talk?

Can we talk?

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Author's note: I think Charlie is one of my favourite characters from the series. I love his sense of humour. When I re-watch the films, his are the lines, and delivery that always crack me up.

* * *

"Dad, I think we can do better than eating out of tupperware, don't you?" she said, watching with no small amount of alarm, as he went to microwave everything in the plastic containers. "Besides, it's bad for you to microwave food in plastic," she added, shaking her head at him.

"Hot dog!" he said "I'm off of making dinners." He then did the most awkward jig Bella had ever seen. Bad enough that it made her blush, and be grateful she was the only witness to it.

"Uh, how'd you figure that?" She asked, wondering if maybe he'd hit his head at work. Or was just severely sleep deprived.

"If you're getting up to boss me around about how to microwave food, you're clearly feeling better." With his hands gently on her shoulders, he placed a kiss on the top of her head. "Nice to see," he added more genuinely.

She chuckled. "Sure," she said, "I think I can probably take on heating up dinner. Maybe even cooking it too, but I'll need to go grocery shopping for that."

"No rush on the driving," he said. "I see enough of what people with fewer brains do in cars to let you behind the wheel just yet."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence?" She said, looking at him sideways, pulling one plate out of the microwave, and putting in another.

"Carlisle did say I could start this week," she reminded him. "Remember?"

He looked at her, one eyebrow up. "You got somewhere to go?" And then softened his expression, "Sorry, I guess you're missing Jake. I get it. But—"

"Actually, Dad, I'm not," she said very softly. Too softly. "Not the way you're thinking, anyway."

"How so?" He asked, the hair on the back of his neck standing up.

So much for waiting to tell him, she thought.

The microwave beeped, making them both jump. Bella turned to pull out the last plate, setting it down carefully on the counter.

"Can we sit down, to talk?" She asked, moving towards the living room, feeling slightly nauseated.

"Let's sit, eat, and talk," he countered, feeling that the weight of a long day, and an empty stomach were not going to help him weather whatever was coming in this conversation.

"I haven't told you how much I remember," she started with, "or, how much I don't remember."

"OK," he said, chewing through his first bite. "I'm listenin'."

"Remember when you showed me the note from Jacob, in the hospital?"

"Uh-huh," he said, still chewing.

"I didn't—I don't—remember us being together—as a couple."

"OK," he said, gesturing with his fork, waiting for her to continue.

"Everyone seemed to think we were, and I was afraid you would keep me in the hospital...or send me home to Mom, if I said I didn't remember." She blurted this out quickly, and then stopped to take a breath.

He put his fork down, and reached over with his hand to cover hers. "I'm not sending you anywhere you don't want to go. And even if I wanted to, I don't think I'd have much ground to stand on. You're eighteen, as you like to remind me." He picked up his fork again, and asked, "Is there more that you don't remember, that we need to talk about?"

"No, not about what I don't remember," she lied, "but I broke up with Jacob. Or, told him how I felt and...yeah. That kinda ended it."

"Oh," he said, "I'm sorry. That's gotta suck."

"It...yeah," she said.

"Wanna talk about it?" he asked, hoping that she didn't. This was definitely not his strong suit.

"No, I just wanted you to know."

"'K," he said, feeling it was safe to take another bite.

"But there's something else I need to tell you."

He nodded, taking a drink of water.

"Edward and I are together."

She was really impressed that he didn't spit out his food. Or choke.

Or yell.

"You're with Edward," he said, trying not to make it sound like the curse he felt it was. "Edward. _The_ Edward? The one who left you six months ago? _That_ Edward?"

She nodded, really hoping he would stop talking about that Edward.

He dropped his head, resting both hands on the edge of the table, and breathed deeply. Twice.

"Sorry," he said, regretting his behaviour. "After what he put you through—actually, no, I'm not sorry. Edward? _Really_?"

"I love him Dad. I never stopped. Even when—even when he left. And after. I love him." The words rushed out, and so did the tears.

"It isn't you I doubt," he said softly. "Does _he_ love you? Will he stay this time?" He was shaking his head.

"There are no guarantees, Dad. I accept that. He loves me. I love him."

He listened, and watched her cheeks glow when she spoke about him. No, there was no doubt for what she felt for him. But that boy—oh, what he'd like to do to him in a dark alley, to repay him all the hurt he'd heaped on his baby.

Wrapping up this nasty monologue, he said, instead, "I can't argue with love. I'm happy to see you happy, but I'll be honest Bella, it worries me. People don't change. They don't just take off on someone, and not do it again. I just don't want to see you so...broken, that way, ever again."

Bella mused that, if he had any idea how unchangeable Edward was, he wouldn't have cause to doubt his love of her. But her own insecurities shrieked at her, and she wondered in the small part of her that wavered, if he wouldn't be right.


	22. Three weeks, and a day

**Three weeks, and a day**

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

"Home by ten, OK?" Charlie said to Bella, looking askance at Edward.

Both nodded, and they stepped outside into the chilly night. He held the door, this time, for her, and stole a kiss before putting on her seatbelt.

"You know, I do remember how to do things for myself," she said, smiling at him.

"Oh, I know you do. I just enjoy doing them for you," he smiled back.

This time, he didn't obey the speed limit. "Feel free to slow down," she said, feeling an unpleasant queasiness, as the world went by. So used, from their time before, to a solid indifference to this request, she was surprised when he did.

"Bella," he said watching her and the road simultaneously, "are you OK? You look quite...green."

"I'll be fine now that you've slowed down," she said, keeping her eyes trained on the dark horizon.

She was grateful to arrive, and breathed a sigh of relief when she could set her feet down on the ground.

"So, Esme has been busy," Edward said, leading her into the house. "She's been working on a Brazilian steak recipe for you. It seemed complicated," he added.

"Thank you, Esme," Bella called from the garage.

"It's nothing, darling!" came the distant reply.

"No whispered secrets here," Bella murmured to him. "You can't even fart in private."

She could hear Emmett laugh at this, the loud boom clear and audible from the front hall. "You're welcome, Emmett—see? the butt of all your jokes is back—get it?" She rolled her eyes at Edward, who was rolling his eyes, good naturedly.

"It beats having Mr. Sour Puss around, that's for sure," Emmett said melodramatically, bringing his forearm to his head in a mock swoon. "He was insufferable when we got back."

"Thanks, Emmett," Edward said meaningfully, leading Bella away to the kitchen. "I think there are some appetizers, too," he said. It worried him that her weight still hadn't returned to anywhere near its normal range.

Nibbling on the beautifully prepared food, Bella chatted with the family as they slipped into the kitchen to say hello. It was calm, peaceful. Easy. So easy to be here again. Edward lingered at her side, his fingers finding hers, eventually sliding her up onto his lap as they sat by the counter. Carlisle was in the living room, reading, and Esme sat on the other side of the counter. Alice, and the rest of the family were at the dining room table when Bella noticed it. They all stopped. Just for a fraction of a second. But all of them together. And then they continued on, as if nothing had happened.

Protesting that she was full—stuffed, really, with the stuffed items she'd been fed—stuffed mushrooms, stuffed steak, and stuffed pancakes, she and Edward slipped upstairs to his room.

"You...bought a bed?" She asked.

"Mm-hm," he said, lifting her onto it.

 _Did this mean—?_ She wondered—no, hoped, she corrected herself. _Maybe—maybe he'd changed his mind?_ This bright thought darkened, as she considered that perhaps he felt differently, about her? _Since—?_

 _No_ , she told herself, mentally shaking her head. _He wouldn't, and I shouldn't,_ scolding herself.

"What are you thinking?" He asked, laying down beside her, his head resting on his hand, the other sweeping her hair out of her face.

 _Be honest_ , she told herself. _You've asked him to be._

"I was wondering if there was some purpose to this bed, beyond me resting on it, after over-indulging in a delicious meal," she said, her tone clearly coy.

"Miss Swann, are you attempting to seduce me? Because it's really cute," he kissed her forehead, "and utterly ineffective," he chuckled, dodging her hand.

"You're terrible," she said. "Total tease."

"I don't have to be a complete tease, you know," he said, kissing her.

Sighing into the contact of their lips, her blood was migrating slowly away from her toes and fingers, tracing a heated passage to the more central regions of her body. Edward's hand was a cold fire sliding down her back, and she gave a small moan when he pulled away.

She kept her eyes closed, one hand still on his cheek, as she put her head back and sighed. With a deep breath, she let body adjust to this unsatisfactory state. Clearly, his lines still held.

"Edward."

"Yes," he said rubbing his lips over her hand, kissing it.

"Everyone, downstairs, seemed to stop, for a moment. Why? What was that all about?"

Edward brought his lips to her mouth with an energy that was startling, leaving her light headed. Her hands swirled through his hair. Moving them down his back, she tested the lengths of his evasion—because clearly, he was trying to avoid answering her. She let them slide an inch past his belt before she felt one of his hands drawing them back.

He pulled away again, taking a deep breath in. "You are making this difficult." If she didn't know better, she would have taken it as a breathy compliment. But she knew better.

"So, now that you are done trying to distract me, why _did_ all of you stop like that?"

There was a pause before he answered, and he cupped his hand around the back of her head. "Will you trust me, please, that you don't want to know?" His eyes searched hers, looking, vainly for the blind trust he needed.

In his mind, Edward could hear his family screaming at him. _What the hell?—She needs to know!—Why aren't you telling her?!—She has to know, Edward, don't make her find out some other way—Tell her!_

"Edward, you promised me that you would be honest, and I want to know. What is it?"

And he opened his ears to hear it again, that tiny, flittering, second heartbeat, that had fluttered into being while they all sat in the kitchen.

"You're pregnant, Bella."


	23. Hell hath no fury

Hell hath no fury

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Author's note: As predicted, there were some big feelings after last chapter. And some emotional break ups by review / PM. But, you're all here, so on I write. I'll be honest, I struggled with this chapter, and I'm not sure it's quite what it needs to be, but here it is.

* * *

"Oh no," Bella said, as Edward pulled up in front of her house.

"Whose bike is that?" Edward asked, the car's headlights illuminating the shiny red fender on Bella's dirt bike.

"Mine."

"Yours? When did you—do you know how dangerous those things are?" He was surprised, by his anger, and forced himself to contain it, reel the loose ends of himself in. "Sorry," he said, gripping the wheel, "I think Charlie's about to give the longer version of the same speech. The louder one, too."

Opening the car door, Edward stopped. "Bella," he said in his calmest voice, "Jacob's here."

"OK," she breathed out, steeling herself. "I'll...go in, and get this over with."

"Why don't I come with you," he said, taking her hand.

"I don't think that would be the best idea," she said, not wanting Charlie's indignation to land on Edward too. And she didn't trust Edward and Jacob to behave themselves.

He didn't like this. Not one bit. Leaving her with Jacob, even for a little. Even with Charlie there.

"Nothing's going to happen. With Jacob, anyway," she said, returning the gentle squeeze of his hand. "Can't say the same for Charlie."

He nodded, pained, seeing the worry on her face. "I'll see you upstairs, later," he said, pulling her into the wrap of his arms. "And I'll be close by, if you need me."

She took a deep breath before she pushed open the door.

The conversation, if you could call it that, with Charlie, had been brief. And loud.

She'd tried, under a brimming tide of tears, to explain that she hadn't hit her head coming off a bike—or rather, that she had, but that wasn't the hit that left her with a concussion. She'd almost opened the door to a conversation where she would be stuck with trying to explain how someone had overheard Jacob's memory. Charlie had misinterpreted her ensuing blush as a sign of guilt, or lying. She wasn't sure which, and wasn't sure if it mattered.

Jacob had been a silent participant, standing sullenly by the door, while Charlie berated them both for their idiocy, foolishness, and a number of other -ishes. At the end of it, Jacob's welcome had been yanked out from under him, and Bella was again grounded, forever. Or until Charlie saw fit to do otherwise. Home by four after school, with supervised visiting hours beyond that.

When Charlie had yelled, actually yelled, in anger and frustration, "How would you know? You've got a concussion. Your judgement is clearly not to be trusted—even when you're not concussed!" She'd given up trying to explain, and sunk deeper into herself.

How could she explain what she was beginning to understand had happened to her? And why it had happened?

And what was going to happen now?

She was pregnant.

Pregnant.

Edward had protected her from the well meaning kindness of his family. "Not now, Alice," he'd growled, when she'd suggested they join them downstairs to talk. "Let her be."

Think. It was all she could do right now.

"I heard," Edward whispered, sliding in the window. "Visiting hours, huh?" he smiled gently, a small attempt at lightness.

She snorted, through the tears, feeling like even more of a soppy mess than she already was. She blew her nose on another tissue. "That's the least of my worries." Edward held her through the fresh wash of tears.

"You're going to be OK, Bella," he said, again.

She nodded, weary of the reassurance. "I just...just wanted to come home and get a hug from my Dad." Here her voice broke, "and Jacob really screwed that up."

Edward's feelings for Jacob darkened more. He had yet to tell Bella, that Jacob had summoned him when he'd left. Called upon the conditions of the treaty.

"You have some nerve," Edward had spat at him, when they'd met in the woods, still well within earshot of Charlie's yelling.

"Oh, I do," he snarled back. "Sure, there's a bloodsucker who's confused the woman I love, and made her think she loves the man who abandoned her."

"You did this to make trouble for her, Jacob. Don't pretend otherwise."

"If it has the side-effect of limiting her time with you, then it's worth it," he said.

"Do you really think this will make Bella think better of you?" Edward asked. "That you've broken her trust—?" He was going to add, "again", but stopped himself.

"I'm here to remind you of the treaty, not talk about Bella," Jacob evaded him, surly and petulant.

"I remember it, Jacob. Not all of us have forgotten the conditions," he retorted.

"You'll remember then, that the treaty is void if you bite a human," he said, looking at him meaningfully. "Even if they ask you to."

"We remember." Edward said, giving nothing away, but inwardly boiling.

"You bite her, you're all dead," Jacob said. "Her too."

"Then we'll leave," Edward countered.

"There's no limit, leech. We'll find you."

Bella was musing over the several broken relationships that had accumulated in her life, over the last few weeks. Jacob first, and then Charlie. Billy too, she imagined. And the rest of the pack.

It had been such a relief to tell Charlie, if not everything, then at least as much of the truth, as she could. She was angry with Jacob, but full of grief too. He had been her best friend, and to have him swing to such bitter anger. She couldn't even bring herself to contemplate what else he'd done.

Edward sighed, holding her. He couldn't fix much of this, but he could make it easier. "Will Charlie let you drive to school?" he asked.

"I don't know. I think, maybe, it would be better if I just let Alice drive me. I don't really want to go poke the dragon."

"Do you think Charlie would let you have some time to see a counsellor?" he asked.

"I think so, why?"

"Well, from my experience, nothing softens parents more than when they think their child is hurting. And you are, Bella. Whether you want to admit it wholly, or not," he said, seeing her about to protest. He pointed to the pile of tissues by the bed. "There are people with profound expertise that even us ancient vampires don't necessarily have," he said gently. "Carlisle was hoping you'd talk to one of the hospital counsellors. It might help." He made himself stop there, letting his words filter through her defenses. Her denial.

"I'll think about it," she said. "But maybe I should wait a few days. For him to calm down," she added.

"Not a bad idea," he agreed, curving his arm so she could nestle into him as she laid down in bed.

He watched her settle into sleep, and listened, with a deepening fascination to the entwined heartbeats within her. He would have to tell her about his conversation with Jacob, soon, but not tonight, he told himself. And he let her slip into the peace of sleep he wished he could still know.


	24. Molly Ringwald

Molly Ringwald

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Author's note: Oh Molly, you made it cool to be a redhead, back when it just wasn't. We fiery folks thank you.

* * *

"I think I'll try a whole day, today," Bella said quietly, Monday morning.

Charlie looked up at her. "Sure you're ready for that?"

She nodded. "I want to finish by June, if I can. Graduate with everyone."

"No rush," he said softly. He'd been pretty quiet since Friday night, and Bella wondered if he was regretting the severity of his restrictions. She glanced out the front window. Her bike was still outside, and Bella wondered if Charlie had left it there to remind himself why she was grounded, every time he left, or entered the house. A silent mnemonic.

"Dad."

"Uh-huh," he said looking up from the paper.

"I notice you've left my bike there."

He looked at her, all good humour gone. She imagined it was how he looked when he pulled people over for speeding. Or doing something dangerous on a bike.

"Yes." He said. It didn't invite further conversation.

"You're not planning on throwing it out, or...something, are you?"

He didn't answer, but raised his eyebrows at her, and then went back to his newspaper.

"Dad?"

"Uh-huh," he said, not looking up.

"Please don't throw it out," she said.

He put the paper aside. "Why not?" He sounded angry.

Crap.

She sighed, "Jacob saw me through a really tough time, Dad. He worked really hard on it. It's what we did, together. It's...a lot more than just a bike," she mumbled, pausing, peeking up at him. He was looking at her, but his eyes had softened a bit. "He should at least be able to recuperate some of his time by selling it," she finished. It was such a strange mix of feelings that lingered in her over him. Friendship. Anger. Betrayal.

He sucked in his lips, and let out a big breath. "OK," he finally managed. "Sure," he said. "Why don't you take it down to him on Friday afternoon?"

"You're OK with me driving?" She was surprised. Carlisle had given her the all clear, but Charlie had been overly cautious. Uncharacteristically worried.

"On Friday. If you're OK, yes. But I want you back by five, got it?"

"Sure," she said, wondering how she was going to explain this to Edward.

"That Alice?" he asked, his face brightening. Of all the Cullens, Alice was Teflon to Charlie. Nothing bad stuck to her. Not even an unsanctioned, mystery three day trip to no-explanations-ever. He got up, and opened the door, smiling at her.

"Hi Charlie! You ready, Bella?" Alice chirped.

"Yeah, sure," she said, grabbing her bag.

"Hold on there kiddo," he said, wrapping up her toast in a piece of paper towel. "Stop trying to live on air," he frowned, handing it to her.

"Thanks, Dad," she mumbled, feeling her stomach lurch uncomfortably.

When they were in the car, Bella asked, "can you do me a favour, and drive slowly...or at least slower? Speed is definitely not my thing right now."

"I suppose," Alice grumbled. "Molly." And then she grinned.

"Who?"

"Molly. Molly Ringwald. Starred in For Keeps. Classic flick about teenage pregnancy. Jasper and I watched it last night. You should watch it too. Mind you, Juno was far more believable." Tilting her head at Bella, she said, "No, definitely more Molly than Juno," and nodded to herself.

While Bella usually appreciated Alice's sense of humour, today it was as light as a bucket of bricks.

"Thanks, Alice," she said flatly.

And then, the realization struck her, "Oh God, people are going to figure this out before graduation, aren't they? Aren't they?! And she looked at Alice, knowing, just knowing that she'd seen something.

Alice's lips twisted the teensiest bit.

"That's why you watched that film, isn't it?"

"Seeing as you've decided, for now, to do nothing. Yes." She looked over at her. "Jessica's going to be the one to notice...I don't know when, exactly. But we all know what a mouth that girl has on her."

Bella said some distinctly un-motherlike words.

"On an equally salty topic, you might want to rethink your plans for Friday," Alice added. "I don't see that ending well for your truck."

"What do you mean?" Bella asked, wondering what more could possibly go wrong.

"There's no way Edward will let you go where you're planning to. Not that I blame him either. Keep in mind, he isn't averse to shortening your truck's life span to accomplish his goals."

Bella flushed, a combination of anger, and humiliating frustration. "Fine," she said, huffing to herself. "Wait," she added, "what do you mean, goals?"

"Bella, please," she said, frowning at her, "we'd all feel better if you weren't driving that death trap. A new car would not go amiss."

Right, Bella thought. Some things never change.

The next few minutes passed silently, as Bella held her soggy toast in one hand, waiting to get to school to throw it out.

Alice pulled over at the one coffee shop in town. "I completely understand you not wanting to eat that, but you know, your dad's right. Air isn't all it's cracked up to be nutritionally." She glanced at the coffee shop, "Can I get you something?"

Bella considered sulking for the rest of the ride to school, but shook her head. "No, thanks. I'm just...I don't feel like eating much right now. Later, maybe."

"I'm holding you to that," Alice said, pulling away.

School had still been difficult on half days, but Bella was worried about falling so far behind. She could at least read for longer stretches now, and would also be able to spend her time there with Edward. While she saw him every night, the stretch between visiting hours, and when Charlie went to bed, felt long.

She wondered if she could convince Charlie to let Edward stay longer, if he was helping her with her homework. Maybe. But maybe not just yet.

Pulling into the parking lot, Bella smiled as she saw Edward, leaning against Rosalie's car. He didn't stop to say hello, but pulled her up to meet his lips.

"Long few hours, Mr. Cullen?" she smiled at him.

"Very," he smiled back, kissing her. He leaned back and looked at her, letting the others move ahead to their classes. "Anything you want to tell me?" he asked, "about Friday?" His eyebrows were up, but his eyes had narrowed, every so slightly.

Bella looked at Alice, skipping ahead of them, and shook her head.

His hands fell away. She could see the tension in them, carefully concealed in his pockets.

Was this it? She wondered, the moment that tipped him back over the edge—to leave? She sucked in her breath, looking down.

Edward paused, watching her, feeling the shift in her circulation, the flush that was blossoming at her neck.

"Hey," he said, a careful hand at her back, feeling the clutch of anger—at Jacob—squeezing his own midsection. "What's wrong?"

She shook her head again. Her cheeks were pink now, topped with brimming eyes.

"I'm not going anywhere," he said. "Not now, not ever."

She finally nodded. Sure, her insecurity said darkly, we'll see.

He wanted to ask, to understand, to crawl into her head and know why she wanted to see Jacob. But he didn't press, pressed back by his own fear. Of losing her to the safety of her own mind. Again.

Bella was reciting her litany of faults, succumbing to the pull of her daunting insecurity. Human, ill, pregnant, broken—"Should get to class," she mumbled, starting towards the building, carefully avoiding any pronoun that would declare them apart, or together.

"Bella," he said, quickly reaching for her gently, but firmly stopping her. He softened his hands, brought them around her. "You're not alone in any of this, but you need to let people help you," he pleaded, "let me help you."

Rubbing her face quickly with the backs of her hands, she half-heartedly mouthed, 'OK', and let him pull her close to him.

The final bell rung, eliciting a "Oh, Crap!" from Bella, imagining the special nastiness Berty would unleash, his most cutting words reserved for the latecomers of the day. "Come on, Berty's going to lose it on us if we don't hurry up."

Edward dismissed this with an airy "tch." He took her hand, kissed it, and they walked together, at an entirely unhurried pace. "As if. I've got the best excuse out there to be late. I'm escorting a concussion victim," and he winked at her. "Just watch."

And she did. He was so good it almost hurt. The hushed tones with Mr. Berty, the sympathetic look he managed to get him to shoot her way, and the final, gentle, "come in and sit down Ms. Swann" made her wonder how often Edward had used his charm on her. Maybe, the insecurity hissed, it's always been that. Just charm.

"What did you tell him?" she whispered, when they finally reached their desks.

"Oh, I told him you were feeling faint," he said glibly, "and, I'm sure, at some point in the last few weeks, you were." He timed his wide grin for when the teacher had begun to write instructions on the board.

Bella's attention was sucked into the unexpected in-class essay assigned for the day, and she managed, but just, to order her thoughts, while Edward whispered suggestions when she flagged.

By lunch, her energy laid crumbled on the floor, and she managed, with pointed encouragement from Edward, and then open threats from Alice ("I'm phoning Charlie to take you home!") to soldier through an apple, and a glass of water. They sat, as all food did these days, unsure, and uneasy in her stomach.

In Biology, Edward and Bella stood over their lab bench, preparing to dissect a sheep's eyeball. The class' chorus of "eeeeeews!" had faded by this point, and had been replaced by a quiet, and gruesome fascination. Overcoming her own distaste, Bella had looked at Edward, who'd nudged his chin in her direction, to take the lead. Then he'd smiled, his sun-warming smile, whispering, "you only get to do this the first time once."

Her chuckle had drawn the sardonic gaze of the teacher, who, sensing no one was going to impale themselves on a scalpel, had returned to his marking.

Edward had held up his blade, modelling a perfect surgeon's grip. Her pointer finger on the tip, thumb and middle finger firmly at the midpoint, she brought the fine edge of the knife to the sclera. The incision oozed, and the sound of fleshy wetness, released, filled her ears. The classroom disappeared.

She was following an elusive strand of memory, trying to pull it, without unravelling the fragile thing, back towards her. She tugged at it, and found herself standing, one hand held out and up, scalpel gripped in the other, ready to defend herself.

Edward was watching her, whispering urgently, hearing the teacher's alarm at her sudden shift with the blade.

"Bella," he breathed, his lips barely moving, "Can you put the knife down? Slowly?"

She blinked, and brought her hands down.

The teacher stood up slowly, and walked over at an even pace, he too not wanting to startle her.

"Edward, why don't you finish the lab. Bella, I think, maybe you should lay down. You look a bit green," he smiled gently at her, and put an arm carefully behind her, not touching, but clearly herding her away from the desk.

"Why don't I walk her to the office?" Edward said, "I can catch up another time."

The teacher thought about it for a moment, "Sure."

Edward didn't wait for him to change his mind, and picked up Bella's bag.

"Come on," he whispered. She didn't say anything, but followed, mute, still clutching the whisper of memory in her mind's eye.

She was grateful, this time, to lay down. It did feel better. An unnatural tiredness settled, like a blanket, and she felt her eyes closing, and sleep pulling her down.

Today, the secretary was immune to his charm. He wondered, what had shifted, and sifted through the deletrius of her mind. Ah, he realised. They would need to deal with those rumours, and soon. Lurking outside the office door, he kept an ear on Bella's heart rate, the other trained to the secretary's shifting thoughts. She was calling Charlie to pick Bella up.

Calling Esme quietly, he waited until Charlie had arrived, and watched him, well-hidden, carry Bella to his car. She would be safe until he could arrive, later.


	25. Driven

Driven

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

The week had slipped by her in a haze of half days, and attempted full days, each night sinking her into exhausted sleep. By Saturday, she was relieved to simply be able to sleep in.

Charlie, watching her struggle through it all, had relaxed his restrictions for Saturday. "Go, see a friend," he'd encouraged her, "do something fun."

She looked at him, suspecting an angle.

"Your other friends," he clarified, seeing her look. Putting his paperwork down, "You know, the ones who were there when he wasn't?"

She nodded, feeling mildly abashed. They had been. Or at least, they'd tried.

Angela had invited her over, and she'd accepted, a little reluctantly. She was kind, but they hadn't been close, and she wasn't sure how they'd fill their time.

She was both relieved, and anxious, to open the cab of her truck. Charlie had made sure it was running well, and taken it for a test drive, filling it with gas. And she felt the familiar prick of tears in her eyes, laughing at herself. She had never been one to be so easily emotional, but she cried over anything these days. Including, apparently, her dad buying her gas.

She was halfway there, just near the turn off to La Push, when her phone rang. She pulled over, fishing it awkwardly out of her pocket. "Hello?"

"Bella, hey it's Angela—I'm so sorry, but I need to cancel. One of the twins is sick—something stomach flu-y. I'm pretty sure it isn't anything you want." In the background, Bella could hear crying, screaming, and the sound of running water. No, indeed. She could do without that. Expressing her condolences, Bella put the phone down on the seat beside her, and considered the possibilities for the day.

And then it hit her. Alice wouldn't be watching for her, necessarily, and if she was, she might have time to make it—just, maybe. She turned off the phone beside her, and shifted the truck into gear, gunning it back onto the road. Once at the turn off, the engine strained at the height of its speed. She wasn't sure exactly where the border was, but after fifteen minutes of the engine's loud whining, figured she was safe enough.

She could hardly believe her luck when she reached the exit to Jacob's. Before she had fully formed what she was going to do, she was standing at his front door. Glancing back, she saw the bike, still strapped into the truck bed, covered neatly by a tarp. She felt the soft thump of gratitude towards Charlie, as her heart skipped a beat. It kept skipping beats as she knocked.

It almost stopped when Jacob answered the door.

They stared at each other, surprise on Jacob's face. Uncertainty on Bella's.

It was Jacob who spoke first. An ugly sound. "I'm amazed he let you come here," and he turned and walked back inside, leaving the door open.

It wasn't an invitation, but she entered, the familiar smell rushing over her. He slumped into one end of the couch, his back to her. "You comin' in?" he called, not looking.

Closing the door behind her, she reached the sofa, running her hand over its rough fabric, and sat at the other end.

Silence, again, hung between them. Awkward, and loud in the rushing blood in her ears.

He raised his eyebrows at her. "Nice to chat with you too. Great weather we're having," he said, the nastiness in his voice riding over the attempted humour.

"I," she cleared her voice, "brought the bike back."

"I don't want it," he said, this through clenched teeth.

She swallowed uneasily. "I figured you could sell it. Recoup some money. For your time," she finished, lamely, sensing how utterly inadequate this now sounded. And how insulting.

"Oh, yeah, that's— _completely_ —what I've been upset about. My _time_." She could feel the shake in his body, through the sofa frame.

She didn't know what she'd expected, really. Hoped, she supposed, for him to be less angry, to understand, at least try to mend this gap.

Or for herself to remember.

Clearly, this wasn't going anywhere, she decided, and pressed her hands into the couch to stand. Her foot caught on the lip of the rug, and her second step secured the tripping point, sending her head first towards the floor.

Jacob's arm caught hers, the hard yank breaking her fall.

She was on her knees, Jacob half over her, an exasperated sound on his lips. "Can you at least try not to fall over on my watch?"

And for the second time that week, something snagged in her mind—a thread of memory caught by the present. It stumbled into her, a drunken, reeling fragment that knocked the air clear out of her lungs. She stood up, and stepped back from Jacob, blushing intensely, pressing her hand to her neck. She could almost feel his lips there; the heat of his hand on her arm was real, confusing the memory with now.

"You—" she started. Her face was crimson. She glanced at the floor, in front of the couch. And then she blanched to an ashy, greeny white.

He was alarmed, and the anger slunk away, replaced only by a care he wanted to silence. "You OK?" he asked, not letting go of her arm, but the grip softening.

She was staring at the floor.

"Do you—remember?" he asked, hope colouring his voice.

She nodded, but it wasn't the expression he'd hoped the memory would bring.

Her arm shook. "Let go," she whispered.

He frowned, but did.

She hadn't looked at him yet; she only registered that he'd listened. She was remembering. "I hit my head," she whispered. It was so quiet, he almost missed it. "And then you—." She couldn't finish it.

The _you_ was not lost on him.

"We—" he began.

"No—you," she interrupted him, eyes now squarely on his confused face. "I hit my head, and you—how could you?" There were colours crowding out the sights of the room. A red, and then a black creeping inwards from her peripheral vision. A strange ringing drowned out the sound of his voice, arguing. She only realised the betrayal her body was conducting when the floor came flying upwards.

It was quiet when she opened her eyes; she was again on Jacob's couch, this time laying flat, her feet elevated over the edge. He was a careful few feet away, sitting on a chair.

"Don't sit up quickly. Just—move slowly." He sounded worried. And annoyed.

"How long?" She asked, suddenly panicked.

"Just a few minutes," he said.

She let out a nervous breath.

"Here." He stretched out his hand with a glass of water, and she took it, righting herself carefully.

He got up, rifling in the kitchen cabinets, and came back with a box of peanut butter cookies. He handed her one wordlessly, and she took it, making a tentative nibble. It tasted surprisingly good, and she found she'd finished it before long.

"I'll drive you home," he said, standing.

"No." She'd said it quickly, and let her eyes dart up to him. "I'll drive myself."

"As if," he said, scoffing. "Sure, yeah, figured she was totally fine to drive after she'd just passed out. Yeah, that'd be a great conversation to have at your funeral."

The images, sounds, and sensations that had been so carefully packed away, were leaking out of the room her visit had unlocked, and a deep, and healthy rage was oozing out of the cracks in her control.

"I've had enough of you making choices for me," she said, looking at the floor in front of her, and then him. Her voice was thick with emotion. She stood carefully, this time watching where her feet went, turning and walking purposefully to the door.

He reached it before her, bodily blocking it. "No. It'd be like someone driving drunk. Not safe. Not OK."

She went to dodge beside him, but he grabbed her by both arms. "Bella, c'mon. Don't be reckless."

"Let. Go." she said, this time through clenched teeth.

"I will, but I'm not letting you drive."

Bella had had enough. Her knee met its mark with enough force to achieve its desired effect, and she ducked by him, running. Fumbling with the keys at the cab to her truck, her hands shook, and she didn't hear the footsteps behind her.

She gasped when she felt herself pushed into the door, her arm wrenched behind her painfully. When she had recovered enough of her breath, she yelled at him, "he's going to kill you for this!"

"Good," he said, pocketing the keys with one hand, releasing her, "at least I won't have to watch him do it to you."

"What?" she said, startled, turning to face him.

He leaned over her, arms on either side, the truck behind her. "He's going to kill you, Bella. You might call it something else, but we", and his eyes swept the symbolic spanse of the reserve, "We know better."

He stepped back. "I can drive you, or I'll call Charlie. But you can't drive."

Bella's head felt like it was going to explode. Edward had told Jacob. Jacob. Her rage was now a boiling fire inside her, burning off all reason and sense.

"Fine," she said, "I'll walk."

Jacob had reached his limit by this point. He traced her four long steps in two strides, and picked her up, carrying her over his shoulder. "Fine," he said, "I'll drive you home."

Screaming at him to put her down, Bella flailed with her firsts, trying to make effective contact with something soft and fleshy. The pain in her knuckles told her she hadn't.

Opening the driver's side door, he set her in the middle of the bench seat, keeping a firm grip on her arm. "Charlie will thank me for bringing you home safely. I don't think he'll care if you're tied up for it. Understood?"

She could tell he meant it, and her body trembled with indignation. Huffing, and breathing hard, she brought her hand back, and heard a sickening crunch as her fist made contact with his jaw. The pain that clawed up her arm was instantaneous, and she curled over her hand, emitting a low, and strained groan.

By the time she had breathed herself through the worst of it, Jacob had started the truck.

He was watching her, his face carefully neutral. "Can you manage your seatbelt?" he asked, one eyebrow cocked, nodding his head towards it.

She didn't answer, feeling the draining shake of the adrenaline ripple through her. When he reached over and clicked the belt in place, she recoiled with a jerk. He backed away slowly, and awkwardly, his jaw set in a tight grimace

He shifted the truck into gear, and began the silent drive back to Forks.


	26. Options

**Options**

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

When they'd reached her house, he'd gotten out, and slammed the door of her truck, leaving the keys in the ignition. She watched, in the rear view mirror, as he stalked angrily into the treeline. When she was confident he was out of earshot, she let the tears erupt, covering her face with her good hand.

After a few minutes, she pulled herself together, wiping her face awkwardly with her left sleeve. She grabbed the keys, and climbed out of the truck one-handed.

Once inside, she found an ancient, and unopened bag of frozen peas, and gingerly set it over the throbbing hand. The sharp knock at the door made her jump, dropping it. She picked it up, hissing in a breath, as her injured hand jarred against the counter. The knocking became more insistent.

"Bella!"

 _Edward._

Steeling herself for his anger, she opened the door.

He eyes widened, looking at her, taking in her tear-stained face, the scent of him, the cradled arm. "Did he hurt you?"

"No," she croaked. "I punched him."

Another scent had reached him, and he moved her behind him quickly. "Something's wrong. Wait here. Alice?" he called, and she appeared, "Hey Bella," she said softly, her face wearing the unusual marks of worry. Edward had gone through the house, and returned in seconds.

"Someone's been here," he said, more to Alice, than Bella. "Where's Charlie?"

"At work," she said, confused. "Why? Who's been here?"

"A vampire, and not one we know." He answered, looking at her sore hand, gently moving the fingers. His own felt soothing over hers. He lifted the other one, and seeing the bruises on her knuckles, looked at her sharply.

"What happened?"

"A lot."

"Bella." His voice was dangerously low. "I came so close to violating the treaty. I didn't know if you were safe. Your phone was off." He stopped, his jaw clenched, closing his eyes. More quietly, he added, "please tell me what happened."

Alice interrupted. "I see a cast in your future. Why don't you two chat on the way to see Carlisle?"

Edward looked at her, some silent communication passing between them, and whispered "thank you." Taking Bella by her good hand, he walked her to the car.

"Isn't Alice coming?" Bella asked, looking back.

"No," he said, "she'll stay. Make sure Charlie's safe when he comes back."

Bella nodded, trying not to dwell on who had been there. What could have happened if Charlie _had_ been there. Or her.

Bella jumped when he tried to do up her seat belt. "I'll get it," she said, breathing quickly.

Edward stopped, looking at her, and rested his hands on the steering wheel. "Please tell me what happened."

"I went to see Jacob."

She could see his jaw muscles flexing.

"And?"

She flushed, and then blanched. "I remembered...what happened."

Edward said nothing. He was very still, his only movement a slight nod. He looked...frightened, Bella realized. It was perturbing.

She swallowed. "And then I passed out. He wouldn't let me drive home after. So I punched him."

"You passed out?" He frowned as he reversed, turning at an alarming speed, moving onto the main road at his usual, nausea inducing pace.

Bella closed her eyes, and laid her head back. "Yes. Please. Slow. Down."

The speed decreased minimally. She focused on breathing in, and out, trying to keep the queasiness from becoming more.

As he rounded a sharp corner, she instinctively reached to brace herself with her right hand, and immediately regretted it. The pain was tight and fresh, radiating up her arm.

The smoothing of the road, from gravel to asphalt told her they'd arrived at the house.

When Edward went to pick her up out of the car, she panicked, but kept enough of herself together to not push away with her right hand.

"Put me down. Now. Please." She was trying to breath normally, but it came in sharp spurts. "I can walk."

She was feeling ghostly, hot hands on her body, and the thought of any touch making them real made her shudder. _Not Edward's_ , she told herself. _Not the two together_. _You're just remembering_.

"No," she said, feeling him trying to reach out to her. "Just, don't touch me. Please. I can't."

"Can you open your eyes, then, please? So we can go see Carlisle?"

 _That's right_ , thought a small detached part of her brain, _you have your eyes closed_.

She opened them, reassuring herself with the familiar sight of the garage. "OK," she said, her voice nervous and shaky.

"Come on," he encouraged her, "your hand'll be better if he sees it sooner."

She followed him, carefully staying out his arm's reach. He didn't look back, instead listening for the sound of her steps.

He'd waited for this. For the memory to return, and for the worst of the trauma to surface. He knew she might reject him, physically at least. He'd braced for it, but it didn't make it any easier.

Carlisle had started pulling out supplies as soon as he'd heard Edward mention her hand. He felt woefully underprepared for the less tangible damage.

He smiled when she came in, gesturing to a seat by the window. "That," he said, watching her cradle her arm, "looks like a nasty fracture." Probing gently, it was easy enough for him to resolve with a simple cast. "I'll put on a waterproof lining for you, but you'll need it on for a few weeks—which means, no real functional use of that hand—no writing, no driving." Seeing her face fall at this, he said, "Sorry, I know that's disappointing."

A soft silence had settled in the room. The only sound was produced by Carlisle's efficient movements, gently forming the cast.

"Bella," he said, "while you're here, can I check up on a few other things?"

"Sure," she said, keeping her arm still, as he wound the cloth around it.

"Edward, can you give us some privacy?"

Edward opened his mouth to protest, but Carlisle silenced it with a sharp look. "Bella?" he asked, turning back to her.

"I'm...OK, on my own," she said, more than ready for some space. She hadn't forgotten what he'd kept from her. And she hadn't stopped feeling the things her body remembered.

Bella didn't hear anything, but Carlisle began speaking again at some silent signal lost to her human ears. "We haven't really talked about your pregnancy," he said quietly.

 _Oh_ , thought Bella. "Are they all—?"

"We're alone. In private."

"OK."

"I wanted to talk to you about your options."

She nodded, absorbing this information. "What sort of options?"

"Do you want to continue with the pregnancy?"

 _Ah._ Those sorts of 'options.'

"I...don't know," she said, feeling a surprising well of emotion springing up inside. "It—I don't know."

Carlisle quietly, and calmly explained the abortion options available to her, and the timelines they operated on.

She shook her head, not able to put words to the confusion of feelings that were swirling inside.

"Then we should talk about your prenatal care."

Shaking her head again, mouthing a quiet, 'no' the tears made fresh lines down her face, and she stood, and walked out of Carlisle's office.

Carlisle had called him to say they could return home, and Edward found her curled up on the bed, perched on the verge of sleep. He didn't call out to her, but let her slip over it, grateful she could at least escape her physical pain.

"Well?" he asked Carlisle, who had come to stand behind him.

"You'll have to ask her," he said, a silent rebuke slipping from his mind before he could censure it. _Sorry,_ he thought at Edward. _I can't treat her if she doesn't trust me._ This was followed by a whorl of guilty memories, of Bella left, abandoned, by them all—at Edward's request. _I listened to you the first time, and it almost destroyed her. I won't second-guess my judgement again._


	27. I Saw

I saw

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Author's note: Someone just asked me to if I could write this faster. I probably could, but you likely wouldn't want to read it. At 10K+ words for this story in three days, I'm feeling pretty chuffed at my pace.

* * *

Thoroughly surly, ill-tempered, and provoked at the smallest slight, Jacob had been sent off with the youngest, and most easy-going member of the pack. Purportedly, to train him, but if Sam was honest with himself, it was to give the rest of them a break.

 _Come on_ , Jacob grumbled, _up the ridge. Eyes, nose, ears open._

Seth acquiesced without words, and followed. They scented the trails for a sharp odour, but found nothing, just the faint whispers of old smells.

 _Probably_ them, Jacob thought.

Seth didn't need to ask who.

Jacob's thoughts had followed this associative thread, and had found their mark. The images Seth was seeing were becoming more deeply personal. Private.

 _Uh, dude,_ he nudged him mentally.

Jacob clamped down on his memories. _Sorry,_ he mumbled.

 _Even his thoughts sound grumpy_ , Seth mused.

Jacob physically paused to look at him.

Seth mumbled _sorry_ , too.

Unoccupied by conversation, or any real trail to follow, Jacob's thoughts soon returned to his favourite preoccupation.

 _OK_ , Seth said, thoroughly disgusted by the repeated images. _Why the heck are you so obsessed with that? Like, I mean, yeah, I get—part—of why, but dude. Come on._

Jacob grimaced mentally. _Sorry. It's just. She said_ —he couldn't even form the words. But Seth caught the mental drift.

 _Oh_ , he thought. _Yeah. I get why you'd be...preoccupied. With it._

She said she hit her head—and that, that I—

 _She did hit her head_ , Seth said.

 _What do you mean?_

 _I saw,_ Seth said. _That night. You know, you kinda slipped. We all saw. Paul was egging you on?_

Jacob nodded, remembering that night. But Bella hitting her head?

Seth showed him.

Jacob stopped, physically, and mentally. Went into a complete blank of shock. And then the enormity of the comprehension hit him.


	28. Anything, Everything, and Nothing

Anything, Everything, and Nothing

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Author's notes: 1 - PTSD: If you've ever experienced the effects of post-traumatic stress disorder, and the nightmare of flashbacks, or episodic psychosis, I empathize with you. If you haven't, or haven't seen it first hand, reserve your judgement of those who have. It's truly horrific, and horrifically misunderstood.

2 - Commentators who say "She's so stupid. She should just have an abortion!" Clearly, she isn't sure, and is therefore wise to wait on hasty action.

And finally, a reminder, this story is rated M for a reason.

* * *

Everything recalled it.

And nothing.

Or, anything.

The first time, she'd succumbed, her body thoroughly lost in itself. Waking, she found herself on the other side of her room, back against the wall by the window, knees curled up into her chest.

She learned then, to be still when they came.

The remembering was a fresh violation. Each time.

Scents. Sounds. Words. Memories.

Touch.

Pain.

All were effective triggers.

Edward's touch, though, was sacrosanct. She hadn't let him so much as brush by her, since he'd tried to pick her up. He'd stopped trying after she shrank away from him the next day, and then the next night.

She'd folded over on herself; retreated effectively into her centre, like a flower blooming in reverse. She moved through her days with the least stimulus possible. Edward was a silent presence, making no demands on her as she sunk into the familiar comfort of silence, and books.

On Thursday, Bella was doing her finest imitation of eating lunch, when a casual remark from a boy at the adjacent table tipped her bodily into memory's grip.

"Oh yeah, it's so good!" he guffawed to his friend over his food, the other punching him in the arm.

Bella was gone by then, sucked into the distorted whorl of remembering. The dull ache in her arm was radiating into the centre of her body, morphing into a now familiar, and painful rhythm.

"Bella," Edward whispered softly. "You're in the cafeteria, eating lunch. You're safe."

She was aware, again, of the space around her. The boys had stopped laughing. They looked ashen, eyes cast down at their food, nervous glances sparking between them.

 _Edward_ , Alice warned silently, _You're drawing unnecessary attention to yourself._

Stealing a peripheral glance, Bella could see why. His face was drawn back, the most subtle, and terrifying curl of his lip told the baser human instincts all they needed to know. The boys were rightly terrified.

"Don't," Bella whispered. "They didn't mean anything by it."

He stopped, immediately, wondering exactly what she had meant. It had been their thoughts _he'd_ objected to. They had repeated, with a new, and nasty insinuation, the rumours Edward had heard echoed in the secretary's disapproving looks the week before.

They wouldn't touch him, but they might hurt her. And that, he told himself, was unacceptable. She had dealt with enough.

"Come on," Alice said, keeping her tone light. "Let's get to class before the halls get crowded." They stood, as on cue, and walked together, a loose circle, gaps carefully managed to spare Bella the unwanted brush of bodies.

School endured, Alice drove her home. Edward lurked somewhere near, she knew, but she quietly welcomed the time alone. It had the virtue of being devoid of stimulation.

She was understandably disappointed to see Charlie's car, to have the buffer between school and the few social demands made on her, stolen.

"Thanks, Alice," she mumbled, and slowly moved herself out of the car.

It felt like the space between the stairs and house were growing, becoming further with each step. She gave up, halfway, hearing Alice drive away, and sat on the topmost board. She could, she figured, have at least a few moments to herself.

The creak of the door opening made her stomach twist. She hoped for a second, that perhaps he'd just come home for something he forgot, or, even better, to tell her he wouldn't be home at all that night.

When he sat down beside her, she let those hopes go.

"Here," he said, handing her one of the glasses he'd carried out.

The smell reached her—cranberry juice. A childhood favourite.

"Thanks," she said, reminding herself to observe the expected niceties.

They sipped at their juice, watching the spring birds twitter about for food, plucking the worms the earlier rain had driven into the open air.

Bella felt a bit like one of the squiggling insects. Ready to be consumed, at any moment. Just waiting for the unexpected talons of memory to carry her away, and drop her, only to clutch her again. Toying with her.

"School called," Charlie said, still watching the birds.

Bella made a small noise of acknowledgement.

"Principal seemed worried about you," he remarked casually, taking another sip. "Classes going OK?"

"Sure," she said. _They were, weren't they?_ It was hard to remember, just at the moment.

"You'd think," Charlie said, "that I'd be the one to notice, if something was really wrong." He looked at her, as if expecting her to comment on this. She didn't, so he continued. "But I know better. We tend to gloss over what we don't want to see in the people we love." He sighed. "I've seen it enough, in my work."

Bella knew there were hard questions coming, but as much as she wanted to, couldn't summon the energy to lie. At least not effectively.

She let herself nod.

"So, what does he say, after he hurts you?" He asked softly, looking at her, his own miserable failing worn in the creases in his face.

She stared at him. Astounded.

He lifted his chin towards her hand. "How'd he break it? And what'd he say after?" He looked down again. "What does his dad say? To excuse it all? After he fixes you up?"

Bella was speechless. He thought—he thought Edward was hurting her? That she would stay with someone who did that?

"Dad—"

"Don't lie." His voice was choked with emotion, and he was staring at the steps. "Just, don't."

"I punched Jacob, Dad." She flushed, hoping she stayed put in her mind, hoping this wouldn't—don't think about it, she told herself. Just stay here.

He looked at her. The words, her voice, they had the ring of truth to them, but it made no sense.

"Why?"

She quailed at the thought of so many words. All at once. She took a deep breath to fuel them all. "I went to return the bike. We had a fight...I punched him."

There. She'd said it.

"What'd you fight about?" Charlie's voice was calmer now, his eyes shrewd, evaluating her words carefully.

"I passed out," she mumbled, "and he wouldn't let me drive home. Insisted he drive me, or call you. He took my keys. So I punched him."

"And the bruises on your arms?—Your ribs?"

Against her will, she blushed. He would have seen, in the hospital, she realized. There were no easy explanations for those.

"And this?" he asked—pointing to her, hunched, clutching at herself defensively.

"Things are just...difficult, right now."

"Why?"

She didn't answer.

"You're not eating. You've lost weight—again. You don't see your other friends. It's like you're in a bloody cult with the Cullens." He put his juice glass down, and brought his hands together, fingers laced, squeezing them.

"Bella," he said, his own face turning pink, "Edward's not making you...do things you don't want to—?" He let the end of the question dangle.

"No," she shook her head, and felt the answer flush on her own skin. "We've never—no," she finished.

"Because—"

"No, Dad," she said with more energy than she'd felt in days. "He believes in...waiting. For marriage." She wondered how close in hue she was to her juice.

"Then where did they come from?" He asked, nodding at her chest, her arms. "Hmm? How?"

Oh God, she thought. Don't make me say it.

"Who hurt you?" He was getting angry.

The tell-tale ringing was in her ears. She gripped the edge of the stairs, and rocked herself forward, putting her head between her knees, lacing her fingers over the back of her head. An uncertain crown.

Charlie had stopped asking questions. He was lost in his own memory, of Renee, perched in much the same manner, head down, trying to not...pass out. When she was pregnant.

She had sat up, taking in the careful breaths of someone who was fighting off waves of nausea, all while keeping themselves upright.

 _"Are you..._ _pregnant?"_

Her chalky blanche told him all he needed to know.

"Who?"

The pallor of her skin took on a greenish tinge.

"Here," he said, alarmed, "have some more juice."

She shook her head, dislodging the tears she'd held back.

He slid himself closer, and pulled her into his arms, resting his chin, and then his lips on her head. "It doesn't matter. You'll be OK. I'll make sure you're OK."

They stayed there some time, each relieved in the other: Bella, for Charlie's acceptance; Charlie, for part of the truth.

Tired. Ever so tired, she had pulled away first. "I need to go lay down," she'd whispered.

"Sure," he said, picking up her glass for her. "Let's talk...later."

He watched her slowly mount the stairs, her feet dragging over the edges of them.

 _She was too young_ , his heart croaked, _too young._

Underneath the ache he felt for her, his anger wanted to know, with certainty, who the hell had gotten his daughter pregnant.


	29. Beds

Beds

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Author's notes: Well. I knew there would be some big feelings about Bella being pregnant, but, folks, your passion for what this character should do has been—wow—something else. How marvellous it is to have engaged readers. Even if they're angry with me ;-)

* * *

Edward hadn't asked why Bella had taken to sleeping on the floor. He had left a good quality camp matt, and sleeping bag by her bed. He was relieved to find her in them, but sorry they hadn't had a chance to at least talk, if only to greet each other.

She slept deeply these days, and much to her horror, drooled profusely, changing her pillowcase every morning.

He'd wanted to tell her it was normal, just the hormones relaxing her body, allowing...but he said nothing, because there was nothing normal for her in this. He wished she would choose. End the interminable indecision. It so clearly tortured her. But she waited, for what, he didn't know.

He wished he did.

So, he contented himself in watching her sleep, in seeing the air move through her body, the fine particulate of her lungs a cloud he could himself inhale and be with her, even to simply share the same air.

His attention was caught by Charlie's waking, and his sudden, and purposeful movements. He slipped outside, and watched, from a distance, as Charlie came into the room, stunned at first, by Bella's absence, and then reassured to see her on the floor. He didn't like it, and frowned, wondering if he should put her back in bed. Thinking better of it, he left her, but added another blanket on top of her.

Edward smiled. He'd done the same. It would be kicked off by morning, her heat blushing through the night, overwarming her.

When Charlie returned to bed, Edward took up his favourite post again, and spent the night imagining the woman he fell in love with, returned to him.

* * *

"Sweetie," Charlie started, and Bella looked up. That term of endearment had disappeared when she was eight. "Is there something wrong with your bed?"

"No...it's fine," she said, sipping her water slowly.

"Any particular reason you're sleeping on the floor, then?"

She knew better than to lie. She blushed instead, pushing her hair off her face.

Charlie, about to drink his coffee, paused, the cup halfway to his mouth. He put it down carefully. The pieces of a puzzle, obvious to Edward, to Alice, to anyone who'd cared to look, had fallen together for Charlie.

"Jacob," he said, looking at her arm. "Did he—?" He stopped. Not sure what to say.

She looked up from under her heavy lids. "Did he what?"

"He's the father."

She blushed. Nodded.

"Did he hurt you?" It was almost whispered. Like a prayer against what he suspected.

The tears told him before her nod did.

"Ohmygod," he said breathlessly, putting his hands to his head. Standing, he whispered, "I'm so sorry," and knelt awkwardly by her at the table, his arms around her. "I'm so sorry."

He took his seat again, reaching for her hand, "The concussion? Did he—?"

"No," she said. "It was an accident." She had to take a breath before she could continue. "We were just...being silly. He knocked me off the couch, and...I hit my head. He thought—he thought…" she didn't know what he'd thought. "He...I guess he thought I wanted to. I...it's fuzzy." She had to pause again. "I didn't remember what had happened, not until I saw him. Last weekend."

"That's why you punched him."

She nodded.

They were both pale by this point. Bella more so. It made Charlie's angry flush all the more noticeable.

"He had sex with you after you hit your head." It wasn't a question, but she nodded anyway. "You were concussed." He looked at her. "He raped you."

It was too hard to speak, so she nodded again, her throat closing up.

He was pacing at this point. Processing. Trying to emotionally detach himself. Think clearly.

It wasn't going very well.

Of one point, he was fairly certain. That if Jacob had done it once, he'd likely done it again.

"When else?" he asked. He didn't need to say what.

She cleared her throat, trying to keep herself from unravelling into more tears. "The day I got back," she whispered. "That last day I remembered."

"In your room," he said. "On your bed." Swallowing, "you didn't want to."

She nodded.

"Right," he said, and walked out the front door.

Bella sat very still, unsure what to do with his sudden departure. The sound of the door, and Charlie's footsteps, told her he had returned. They were heavier than when he'd left. He didn't stop at the table, but his feet made loud thumps up the stairs.

The sound of an axe, brought to bear on dry wood splintered through the stillness of the house. She jumped at it. The sounds of debris, landing softly in the wet ground, made a strange rhythm. A few minutes later, Charlie came back down the stairs, sweaty, and dusty. "Why don't you go get dressed," he said calmly, "and then we're going to buy you a new bed." He was breathing heavily, his face flushed with effort, an axe held casually in one hand.

She nodded, not reminding him that she had school, or that he had work, and tiptoed up the stairs, uncertain of what else she might unleash with her words.

She carefully avoided the space where her bed had been, and found clothes, dressing quickly. Brushing her teeth, she avoided the mirror, and walked as quietly as she could down the stairs.

Charlie had dusted himself off, and was waiting, keys in hand. "Let's go."

The drive to Port Angeles had been a quiet one, the low hum of the radio their only company.

A half hour in, she'd leaned her head against the window, trying not to be ill. There wouldn't be anything to throw up, but she didn't relish the thought of it.

Charlie glanced over. "Nauseous?" he asked quietly.

She nodded.

"Press your thumb—or your cast, on the midpoint of your left wrist. Keep it there a bit."

She frowned a bit, but did as he said, not sure what it would do. The waves of queasiness eased a bit, after a few minutes.

"How does that work?" She asked, surprised, and relieved.

"Your mom wore a sea-band. Same idea. Acupressure. It helped."

Silence ensued, and Charlie chewed on his own thoughts.

"Who knows?" he asked.

"About?"

"The pregnancy?"

"Carlisle, Edward," she lied. "Don't tell mom, please," suddenly afraid he would.

"I won't," he said, "but you should."

"Oh, Dad—no, she'd freak out. No." She shook her head.

He didn't press the point.

"And about...everything else?" he asked more quietly.

"Carlisle and Edward," she said again, not sure, really, who else. She hadn't asked. She didn't want to know.

Signs of civilization had appeared at this point, and Charlie took a road curving widely to the left, clearly intent on a destination. A plain, squat building appeared to the side, with the words "Bargain Warehouse," emblazoned on the side.

He pulled into one of the closer parking spots. "What size would you like?" he asked. "I was thinking a double, gives you a bit more room."

She didn't ask why he thought she needed more space. It led to too many dangerous avenues.

"Sure," she said noncommittally.

They wandered through the aisles of furniture, Charlie pointing out the various options.

She was tired. It was hard to focus. He suggested a few, and she agreed with all of them. Nodding when he pointed to one, he sighed.

"OK, now that _I've_ picked out a new bed for you, why don't you go and at least pick the bedding yourself," he said, filling in the delivery paperwork. She found herself in front of a wall of bedding choices, all neatly arranged by colour. The paler end of the spectrum appealed, and she touched, ever so tentatively, the snowy white of a duvet cover, traced with a subtle pattern of flowers.

It reminded her of Edward. Of his perfect skin, and the memory of their meadow, a paradise of flowers.

"That looks nice," Charlie said. "We'll get two. Good to have a spare."

Bella had begun to sink into her fuzzy space, and sat in a chair by the door, waiting for the transaction to be completed.

"Let's get something to eat," Charlie said, looking at his watch. It wasn't close to 11 yet, but he hadn't seen Bella eat anything. _Still living on air_ , he thought to himself.

Stopped at a small coffee shop, he nibbled on a croissant, while she sipped a glass of juice, and eyed the apple she'd finally acquiesced to.

"You know, you actually have to put it in your mouth to eat it," he said, a sardonic note to his voice.

"No shit," Bella said quietly. "Give me a minute. I'm working up to it."

"It's been ten, and pregnant or not, you still don't get to swear at me."

She grunted in reply, picking up the apple, taking a nibble of the skin.

"Bella," Charlie said, leaning forward, "I know you're thinking about what you're going to do, but," he held out a hand, gesturing towards her, "you can't not take care of yourself. And if you're not sure, you need to think about the baby, too."

She flinched at the word, and he immediately regretted say it.

 _Still_ , he told himself. _He was right._

"We're here," he went on. "We could go see someone here, get you some help for the morning sickness. Give you some space from everyone in town."

She caught his drift. "It's not that its Carlisle, that's fine. I just can't—I can't deal with it right now."

He wanted to say a good many things at this point, but stopped himself. He would wait. A few more days at least, but then she needed to make some choices, even if it was only to eat.


	30. Sinking

Sinking

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Author's note: I found, in the latest guest comment on chapter 29, an insight that demonstrated some research, and dare I say, thoughtful analysis: "the core of your story is about a broken woman that edward [sic] will help and rescue her like most of your favorite stories." Indeed, dear reader, indeed. That is the essence of Meyer's narrative, built on well worn tropes: Magical male being saves fragile female creature. I make no bones about swimming in this soup. I just don't agree with it in real life. We can talk about my complicity in perpetuating the patriarchy another time :-)

* * *

Saturday night arrived, and Bella realized, with some surprise, that she hadn't eaten, and that she felt better. Lighter, even, if not a little light headed.

On Sunday, she got up only to use the bathroom, and drink water, relieved still that her feelings had been dulled to a point of pleasant nothingness. By the late afternoon, Charlie was alarmed. She'd retreated to her bed, staring at the lights strung on her wall, not sleeping, and only making the most essential noises in response to his questions.

She'd refused all food, and only sipped at the water he'd left by her bed. Bringing up her shoes and coat, he said "Let's go," and she looked at him, confused by the command, so she ignored it, and turned her attention to the wall again.

"Bella," he tried again, "Do you need me to carry you to the car, or will you walk?"

Sighing, she stood up, and sloughed into her shoes and coat, shuffling down the stairs and into the car.

When they arrived at the hospital, her energy returned. "Why are we here?"

"I'm worried about you," he said. "You're not eating. You're not talking. You're...barely existing. You need some...help."

"No," she said, and folded her arms. "I'm fine."

"And I'm fricking Father Christmas. Let's go." He held the door open, and waited. When she didn't get out. "You can walk in, or I'll carry you in." She shivered, remembering the last time she'd been presented with similar options. Looking at Charlie, she saw the solid stance of his feet, spread wide apart, and knew he meant business.

"OK," she said, allowing him to help her out of the car. Once inside, she allowed herself to sink inward, her defenses making the world a fuzzy thing she didn't have to deal with. The light had changed, she knew, by the time she moved from the waiting room to another space. The voices around her were becoming more muffled, more uncertain, and she felt less required to attend to them.

She had happily laid down on the bed, curled on her side, studying the minute variations in the wall's eggshell white. The dimness of her consciousness was pleasant, peaceful even. She could safely ignore the voices now. They were talking about her. Not to her.

The hands that touched her were another thing entirely.

She reacted. Violently. All limbs rejected the touch, and she found herself standing, her one good hand scrabbling on a table, looking for something. The feel of cool metal was a sure thing, and she grabbed it.

"Bella."

She knew that voice. Charlie, her mind registered. He was worried.

"No one's going to touch you, or hurt you...maybe you want to put the scissors down?"

He was worried about her. She looked at the scissors. They did look sharp.

"No one's going to touch you, honey. Please put the scissors down."

The doctor had gotten up, and taken several quick steps backwards to the door. She could see him looking at her, and then sideways, and back again. Like he was waiting for someone.

Charlie was standing five feet from her on her left, his feet spread and hands loose. Ready.

The adrenaline was fading. She was feeling shaky, and tired. Looking back at the door, the doctor had disappeared, and she dropped the scissors, and slid to the floor, arms curling over her legs.

She heard the sound of metal, kicked, sliding across the floor, and a loud, "No! Don't!" from Charlie. She tucked herself in tighter, hearing it.

She detached herself at that point from the part of her mind that understood words, and floated above the noise, still safe, still moving inwards.

The many sets of hands that took hold of her thrust her back into herself, and a squabbling mass that ended with her back on the floor, and a sharp jab in her arm.


	31. Sunken

**Sunken**

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Author's note: Parents operate with the best of intentions, and the road to hell is paved with those.

* * *

The edges of the world were sharper than when she'd left them, and Bella went to rub her eyes, feeling off, but her hand wouldn't move. Neither would her other. Her feet were immobilized, too. She blinked. She must be asleep, she told herself. But the space around her persisted, unfading, permanent. She could see the beginning of an IV line in her right arm, but couldn't see where it went, the tube running behind her.

She forced herself to not panic. To look, to think. Moving her fingers around on her left hand, she felt the familiar shape of a call button, and pushed it.

She heard footsteps, and then the buzz of an electronic lock, as the door opened.

"You're awake," said a new voice, soft and female.

"Please take these off," Bella said, not caring who this person was, just wanting to be able to move.

"I can't just yet. Are you hungry, though? Thirsty?"

"Please take them off," Bella repeated, the panic rising. "Please."

"The doctor is going to be here in a few minutes. We can talk about it then, but until now, they need to stay on, alright?"

It was not alright, but Bella suspected it didn't matter if she said so, or not.

"Where's my dad?"

"I don't know. Do you want me to call him?"

"Yes, please."

"If I can't reach him, is there anyone else you'd like me to call?"

She thought about asking for Edward. Really thought about it. But no. She couldn't bring herself to trust him. Not after...no.

She shook her head.

"Alright. I'll go call your dad."

Bella laid her head back on the bed, and waited.

When the door buzzed again, a small group of young men walked in. Bella was surprised. She hadn't made the conscious thought, but she'd expected, in some small part of her mind, to see Carlisle.

"Where's Dr. Cullen?" she asked, looking at what seemed like very, young, and untrained doctors.

They ignored her question. One of them introduced himself. She didn't register his name. Her heart rate was increasing, just watching them, watch her.

"Please take these off," she said, looking at the restraints.

"Sure," he nodded. "I'm going to start with your left arm, OK?"

Touching her as little as possible, he released her left arm. "I'd like to listen to your heart rate, and the baby's, if that's alright?" he asked gently, watching her carefully.

 _The baby_ , she thought. _Not a foetus, but a baby_. Her innards squirmed. "Sure," she lied, she would pretend that was alright.

She flinched at the touch of the stethoscope to her chest, but endured it without panicking. "I'm just going to lift up your shirt a bit, and move your pants down to listen for the baby's heart rate," he said softly, again his touch as light as possible. The flinch this time was greater, and she could see the other men in the room shifting uneasily.

"Bella, I'm going to take off the restraint on your right leg now, OK?"

She nodded, and breathed a sigh of relief when it came off.

"I understand you've stopped eating," the man said, sitting in a chair by the bed.

She nodded.

"You're on an IV, just so you can get some basic nutrients, a few calories." He waited for her to comment, or acknowledge this, but she was trying to move inwards, away from his voice. It was harder today.

"Do you know why you're here?" he asked.

She shook her head, still trying to sink into the comfortable oblivion from which they'd pulled her.

"Your dad was pretty concerned about you. Do you remember what happened when he brought you in?"

Again, she shook her head. The last few days were a pleasantly fuzzy haze.

"You attacked a doctor when he tried to examine you, after you'd told him he could."

She looked at him, confused. "Are you sure?" she asked.

He nodded, solemnly.

"I'm going to take off the other leg restraint, OK?" he asked. Nodding again, she frowned. She'd attacked someone?

He undid the cuff, and she curled her legs up to her chest, relieved to be able to make herself smaller. Less significant in the room.

"I'm going to free your other hand now, alright?"

She nodded, trying to hold back the tears. When she felt it released, she curled up completely, legs awkwardly held in one good, and one aching arm.

"How's your arm feeling, Bella?"

She was trying to muffle the sobs into herself. She wanted nothing more than to be left alone. To slip back into oblivion.

He repeated the question.

She said nothing, trying to burrow back into herself.

"Bella," he said softly, "if I'm not confident you'll communicate with us, tell us something's wrong, I need to put the restraints back on."

 _Bastard_ , thought Bella.

"It's sore," she said, her voice raspy.

"Do you want something for the pain?" he asked.

"No," she said.

"Do you have any concerns about your pregnancy?" he asked.

She wanted to laugh. It was surprisingly hard not to. She didn't think it would inspire confidence in her sanity. _Do I have any concerns? Is he for real?_

"No," she said instead.

"Do you have any questions for me?" He asked. His voice was soft, and he kept a considerate distance from the bed.

She shifted, sitting up, arms still wrapped around her knees. "I'd like to go home."

"And I'd like you to be able to as well. For now though, you need to stay here. We need to run some tests, and make sure you're OK."

"You think I'm crazy."

"No," he said. "You've had a concussion, experienced, from what I understand, something quite traumatic, and have begun to show signs of psychosis, and tried to hurt yourself."

"I—" she started.

"You've stopped eating. You're starving yourself."

Bella closed her mouth. She couldn't argue with him.

"I don't want to be touched," she said, fearful that she would have to be.

"No one will touch you unless you give your permission," he said. "But that will change if you try to harm yourself, or others."

She nodded.

"You're allowed to have visitors, but no more than two at a time, preferably one, and for no more than two hours at a time."

Her stomach clenched. While Edward's presence had simply been that, of late, a silent reassurance, he had been there. He wouldn't be allowed to spend the night.

"That's upsetting for you," he observed, handing her a tissue.

It was.

And with it, she could feel a hand sliding up her leg, and the ghost of a face over her own, a regular surge of pain washing up her. She knew better than to move. Knew better than to say anything. _It'll pass_ , she told herself, _just give it a minute_. Her muscles tensed against it, fighting off the assault that they hadn't been able to prevent the first time.

"...at four minutes," the doctor was saying to someone, writing a note on the chart.

"Pardon?" she asked.

He smiled at her. "What happened, just now, Bella?"

She looked at him, horrified. She shook her head, bringing her legs closer to her.

"Something too difficult to talk about, or you can't explain it?"

She had to think to process his words. "Too difficult," she whispered.

"OK," he said, making note of her answer. "A number of people are going to come and see you, Bella, to gather information, and see how best we can help you feel better. It's important you're honest with them." He stood, and with a final smile, exited the room. The others, she realized, as they left, weren't doctors. They were orderlies. They had been there to keep him safe, from her.

She could hear Charlie's voice, dully, in the hall, but it was out of sight of the windows. She was on edge, anxious, and at loose ends. Did they really intend to keep her here—and she realised, she didn't know for how long—indefinitely?

When Charlie was finally buzzed into the room, she was thoroughly on edge. And angry.

So angry, she couldn't form words, but glared at him, her breath coming in rough huffs.

He didn't even bother with a hello, just sat down, looking exhausted, like he was waiting for her to bite his head off. "I'm glad they took the restraints off," he said, letting out a big breath. "And if you're feeling well enough to be angry with me, then you're not dying, and I'll take you angry and alive over dead and peaceful."

Bella blinked. _Dying_? "Don't you think that's a bit of an overstatement?" She said through clenched teeth.

"No," he said. "You took a nose dive this weekend. I see where those wind up."

She started at the realization. "You thought—I was going to kill myself?"

He nodded.

"I'm not. I wasn't." She blushed.

"Good. Let's keep it that way."

"How long, Dad? In here?"

He sighed. "Three days." He looked at her, waiting for the challenge. The noisy anger.

She clenched her jaw and looked down. A psych hold. He'd talked, not often, but enough, over the years when he'd had to request one. Jail for crazy people. "Can you get me my school stuff, then? Something else to read, too?"

He was surprised, but grateful, at the show of acceptance. "Sure," he said. "They wanted me to tell them who was on the approved visitors' list, too." He looked at her, waiting for her requests.

"I've put Edward on there," he said, surprised she hadn't asked already. "And Alice too," he shrugged.

"Maybe Angela," she said, "and the rest of the Cullens," she added quietly.

Charlie nodded, opening up the paper bag he'd brought with him. He pulled out a croissant, and a juice box, that he placed on the table by her bed. More childhood friends. She mumbled a quiet 'thanks', but didn't move to touch either. The thought of eating was wearying in and of itself. Attempting the act seemed more so.

"Can I get some clothes from home?" she asked, looking down at the grey pajamas she wore.

"Sure, but it can't be anything with buttons, wire, or string."

She conducted a brief survey of her clean clothes, and determined Charlie should be able to find her something to wear.

She nodded, jaw still tight.

"They'd like you to speak with a psychiatrist." Charlie said this so easily, she could have mistaken it for a comment about her laundry, but she caught it, and looked at him, her body still.

He really thought she was crazy.

"And you'd like me to talk to one, too," she observed.

"I think it could help. Yes."

"Is Carlisle still my doctor?"

Charlie looked at her, eyes narrowing. "Only if you want him to be," he said. "When you leave here."

It seemed a strange thing for him to say, to Bella. "Can he be in charge of my physical well being here?" she pressed.

"No." It was a direct reply, and an even more direct disappointment. Bella felt it stick in the middle of her chest. She was at the mercy of people entirely ignorant of what was swarming around her. And potentially, in her.

She swallowed, reaching for the juice, puncturing the top with the straw, and taking a long drink. It didn't escape her that they'd left no water in the room.

"Dad," she started, wondering how she could finish her thought. "I can't—can't make any decisions here about what to do."

"No, and you don't have to, honey." He sighed. "You just need to take care of yourself."

They both jumped as the intercom buzzed. "I'm sorry, but Bella's psychiatrist is here to see her now. I'll buzz you out in just a moment."

"Sure," he said, standing. He approached the side of the bed, holding the rail. "I'll come back later today. Bring your stuff, too," he said. Almost, almost, he leaned forward, wanting to give her a hug, but stopped himself, gripping the side rail hard, before turning and yanking open the door.

He leaned back against the wall outside the room, and exhaled, long and slow. He wasn't embarrassed to wipe his eyes, either. She was alive, and that was all that mattered right now.


	32. Hands

Hands

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Author's note: You've all been so lovely. Good work. Have another chapter.

* * *

Hands were the worst.

People think of them as so benign, benevolent, event. Yet, the ferocious damage they are capable of, is remarkable. So Bella thought, trying to silence the spider-creep of non-existent hands, pawing at her flesh. The memory of the pain could be tolerated, but the mark of ghostly handprints were fresh still over her torso, and now made her skin shiver.

"They can be incredibly real," the psychiatrist—Ann, she'd insisted on being called ("Dr. Ann, if you must"). And how frequent? No clear answers there. "As often as they happen," she'd offered, almost with apology.

Bella was reluctant to be honest, but Ann had made a strong case. "I'm the one person they want to hear from. The more honest you are with me, the better a chance you have of leaving," clarifying, seeing Bella's look, "No, not earlier than three days, but leaving, yes."

It would have been so much easier just to crawl back into herself, and avoid the daunting work of letting her mind recover itself.

"Because it is recovering. It's also sifting through a lot of unprocessed material. And that may feel awful right now, but you need to process it. Otherwise it just sits around and rots everything else around it."

It seemed an apt metaphor, looking at where she found herself. She admitted that what she'd been doing was really going all that well.

The pregnancy had been a stickier issue.

"I just can't," Bella said, for what felt like the millionth time. _I should have it emblazoned across my forehead. It can be my new family motto_. She laughed darkly at her own joke.

"And that's fine," Anne had nodded, tucking away her notes. "You're not ready to process that yet. You have time."

Here Bella had challenged her. "Really? Because you'd think there was a damn house on fire, with everyone demanding that I make a decision about it. Right now." The flare of angry resentment was surprising. So many people telling her what to do, or who to love, or what to think, she supposed it shouldn't. Maybe she just hadn't processed it all.

Processed.

She was an old roll of camera film, the kind that was destroyed when it was inadvertently exposed to light. Fragile.

Or maybe she was mixing her metaphors.

In any case, the analogy of being broken seemed simple enough. She had that mastered.

Edward and Carlisle had arrived in the early evening, supposedly to visit together. Carlisle was pulled away by a well-timed emergency call.

Bella all but rolled her eyes at the subterfuge. Edward brightened at this sign of life. He stood, a careful distance from the bed, close enough to be touched if she wanted, but far enough that Bella didn't have to worry about him startling her with it.

She reached out a hand to him, one finger extended, and he reciprocated. "Are you looking to go home little, terrestrial being?" he quipped gently.

She smiled, "yes, actually, I am. Don't suppose you're up to breaking me out, are you?"

He leaned forward to answer, almost imperceptibly, whispering most sincerely, "I will, if you want. Just let me know. But understand, it will mean leaving here—and Charlie. For good." He had watched the tears spring, and the energy she'd summoned for him sucked away.

She was sinking, sunken really, already, into her cozy place of nothing, where things didn't reach. Where Edward couldn't find her. It terrified him.

It appeased her.

Her bodily needs had summoned her attention though. Cursing the IV bag that necessitated her many, and increasingly frequent trips to the bathroom, Bella got up, again, to use it. A careless step over the sill made her bump her right arm, and the pain tweaked the perfect cocktail of memory. She'd stood, transfixed, as the fresh wave slid over her, drawing her down in the dark pool of memory.

"Recognizing that they're not real is the important part. Finding that tail end of reality to grab onto, preferably something touchable, is incredibly important. A wall, the floor, your shoes, a piece of jewelry. Anything that you didn't have during the attack, will help you understand that it isn't physically happening."

She had nothing, she realised, and noted, in as detached a way a she could, the hot ink she was stamped with, the ghostly impression of the hands roving. Pressing her own hands to the coolness of the wall, she imagined, with a dangerous experimentation, the counteracting touch of someone so conversely cold, it would erase those other touches.

The memory jolted to a halt, and she breathed in ragged breaths, letting them out with uncertain tears.

Slinking back into the bed, she curled into her familiar cocoon, and let sleep wrap her up, hopeful, the chrysalis of the night would bring something new with the morning.


	33. Fresh Surprises

Fresh surprises

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Author's note: I just had a conversation with a colleague on Friday about the lack of new, or even informationally current textbooks in the BC school system. I imagined a nice new biology textbook just for her. One that would pack a punch when thrown.

* * *

The night passed peacefully, and the day brought fresh surprises.

Not the good kind.

The flurry of morning activity favoured, Bella discovered, by doctors and nurses, over, she had drifted back into a pleasant doze, feeling guilty that she hadn't done much with her school books, but not moved enough by it to actually do anything now. She'd grown accustomed to the buzz of the door, and when it opened, she didn't bother to look up, expecting another nurse, stray doctor, or one of those vague hospital workers whose nebulous roles were never quite understood.

What she didn't expect, was Jacob.

"Bella."

Her eyes widened at the sound of his voice, and she slid her hand over to her biology textbook, laying beside her in bed. _Hold onto something real_ _,_ she told herself.

 _This feels very real_ _,_ she thought, but it isn't. She tightened her hold on the smooth edge of the binding. Her hand was sweating over it.

"Dad said you were here. Again," he said quietly, coming closer to the bed. She breathed in, and out, clutching the textbook.

"I've been trying to figure out, how to—" he sighed, "how to apologise to you."

 _Not real_ , she told herself, _maybe just a really lucid dream._

"I'm so sorry," he said, his voice a quavery whisper, "I didn't know." He was leaning over the bedrail, a hand brushing back her hair.

 _Not real_ , she insisted, her skin crawling at his touch.

"I honestly thought you wanted to. If I'd realized you'd hit your head, I never would have—" Jacob stopped abruptly. His eyes had been scanning the room, trying not to stare at her. They had come to rest on the whiteboard behind her. The words maternal, and foetal, and heart rate numbers, dates, and times were listed.

"Are you...you're pregnant." The question ended as a declaration.

The hot grip of his hand over her upper arm tripped the switch in her mind.

 _Real. Definitely real._

She exploded out of the bed, still clutching the heavy book, and backed up against the wall.

"Don't touch me," she breathed out, her voice hoarse.

"How long—did you _know_ _?_ When you saw me?" He was angry, and the betrayal and the hurt were hurled at her with his words.

When he took a step towards her, she threw the book at him. "NO!" she screamed, and finding herself out of reach of anything else, ripped the IV line from her hand with a painful yank. She pointed the needle at him in her one, good, shaking hand. The shake moved down her arm and into her body. Overwrought, undernourished, and now exhausted by the waning of adrenaline, she curled into herself, hoping, praying, he would just leave. Wouldn't touch her.

She was safely wrapping herself back up in mind, when she felt the now familiar pull of many sets of hands.

"Bella," the nurse's voice was calm, "come back to bed, Edward's leaving now."

 _Edward?_ She thought. _Edward was leaving? No, she wanted Edward to stay, just Jacob to leave_. She opened her eyes.

"See?" The nurse pointed at Jacob's back, moving out the door, "He's leaving. You're OK."

"That's not Edward," she said, freshly shaken by their mistake.

This seemed to alarm the nurse even more, and she nodded, the hands on her lifting her into the bed. _The orderlies_ , Bella realized.

Her body had relaxed at this point, exhausted by defending herself, but when she felt the cool grip of the restraints, a rigid panic set in, and she screamed "NO!"

There was little time for repetitions of this key phrase, as her arms were pinned down, and a painful push told her the IV had been reinserted. An insistent heaviness pulled at her eyes, and she slipped, frantically scrabbling for consciousness, into a blank nothingness.


	34. Release

**Release**

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

 **Author's notes:**

 **Just got a comment that began with "I just skimmed through your story. Don't you ever get tired of portraying Jacob as a rapist? I feel like every story you write is the same." (cough) Maybe, in skimming, they missed the part where it said this was a rewrite of another story….or, the story that had nothing to do with Jacob being a rapist. At all.**

 **The comment goes on to say: "I don't really ship [sic] anyone in particular, but you definitely seem to hate Jacobs [sic] character by always making him a rapist. You really don't get his character at all. Even when Myers wrote him, he would never lay a hand on Bella. He loved her unconditionally even when Bella abandoned him for Edward over and over again."**

 **(splutters out morning coffee) Jacob never laid a hand on Bella? In the books?**

 **Maybe they skimmed the books too. You know, the one every reader who has some well-justified, icky feelings about Jacob remembers? The part where he physically assaults her? Yeah - that one! And the part where her dad is a total a-hole and treats it as a joke...yeah, Charlie, we're all still disappointed with you on that one.**

 **I mean, what's wrong with someone physically overpowering you, and kissing you, so much so that it hurts? That you want to punch them in the face? (even if it means breaking your hand)**

 **Oh, wait. _Right_. That's how a lot of rapes start. Or long-term physically and emotionally abusive relationships that women are told to endure, because they're "normal."**

 **This people, is how we got to #MeToo, which lit up my social media feeds with my broken heart for weeks. Because I fall into that category too.**

 **Sigh.**

 **On with the story.**

* * *

"I DON'T CARE ABOUT YOUR POLICY! GET THEM OFF OF HER!"

It was a strange pleasure, Bella realized, to have someone yell on your behalf, especially when you couldn't, yourself.

"THEN GET HIM DOWN HERE—NOW!"

She couldn't really hear what the nurse was saying, but it didn't take much imagination to produce something likely.

The door buzzed, and Charlie was at her side. "I'm taking these off, Bella, just give me a second to figure them out."

"Chief Swann, you really can't—please, just wait—"

He ignored the voice, and worked silently, fumbling with the locking mechanisms, but once the first was off, made quick work of the others. The fuzzy realization, that she had been sedated, surfaced, and it took her a few moments to realize the restraints were gone. She curled into her familiar form, listening to Charlie's reassuring intonations.

Bella must have slipped under again, because the room was much more crowded when she came to again.

"...LOCKED HER IN A ROOM WITH HER RAPIST! WHAT DID YOU EXPECT?"

"The nurse—"

"DIDN'T CHECK HIS ID!"

"She's still a danger—"

"WHEN SHE'S CORNERED BY HER RAPIST?!" Charlie's voice was getting hoarse. He was shaking with rage.

"Dad," she whispered, and everyone in the room looked at her. "I'm OK now." Her own voice trembled.

"And I'm going to make sure you stay that way," he said softly, reaching out to touch her, but catching himself before he did.

"No more restraints," he said, looking evenly around the room. "And no one comes in here without their ID being checked. Even me. Are we clear?" There was a reluctant nodding of the heads present.

The door buzzed, and Ann walked in carrying a clipboard. She looked at Bella, Charlie, and the medical team, and the restraints, still attached to the bed. "Take those out," she said crisply to one of the orderlies. "Now, please," when he didn't move immediately. She heard the rattling of him removing them, and his soft footsteps as he carried them outside. One down, thought Bella. Five more to go.

"I need to speak with everyone, outside please." Her tone was curt, and her wavy grey curls bounced when she talked.

And down to none, Bella breathed silently, feeling the keen, and teary relief of being alone with Charlie.

"Please hold me," she whispered. He sat down beside her and wrapped her up in his arms, awkward with the angle, but he braced himself with his foot, and held on tightly, hoping she wouldn't ask him to stop. His heart was still thudding, and he couldn't get the image out of his head, of what they'd told him. _She'd attacked him,_ they said. _Edward?_ He'd asked. Really? And then, feeling the sickening in his gut before his work instincts kicked in, said, _Describe him for me_ _._ They'd locked her in a room with Jacob. With the man who'd raped her.

In the hall, Dr. Ann was cutting staff down one word at a time. She began with the nurse, and the massacre of reproach went on from there. Her hands and arms gestured, often, towards Bella's room, and the phrases _fragile state, utter violation, and destroyed trust_ _,_ wafted in through the door's air vent. Dispersing them with rigid instructions, she walked back into the room.

"Sorry," she said, seeing the moment she was interrupting.

"S'OK," Bella said, grateful she hadn't brought more people back with her.

"Chief," she said, "maybe we can all talk for a moment?"

Charlie had so many things he wanted to say, but he didn't think any of them would wind up helping Bella. "Fine," he said gruffly, loosening his hold. "Sorry," he whispered to Bella.

She shook her head. She was having trouble linking her thoughts together.

"I'm lifting the time restriction on visitors, so you can have someone here, that you trust, if you want, Bella." She looked at her, watching to make sure she understood.

"So," Bella said, feeling a wavering of hope at the thought, "someone can stay with me, at night, if I want?"

"Mm-hmm," she said. "And if you want someone to leave, you just need to tell us, or press the call button three times, if you're feeling uncomfortable." Looking at Charlie, she added, "of course, everyone will need to show ID, and to sign in, and out, everytime they come and go from the room. Including you."

Charlie nodded.

"We still have some more work to do today, and tomorrow, but I am hopeful of discharge the following day. You understand, I can't make any promises."

Bella had leapfrogged ahead to other things, by this point. "I want an abortion," she said, without preamble. "Now."

"OK," she said, sighing. "I understand, and of course, you can. It's just—"

"You're not allowed to make any medical decisions yet," Charlie finished. "Until the...evaluation...is done."

"Can't you?" She asked, looking at him, "authorize it?"

"No," he said, "I'm not allowed to. It has to be something you choose, legally—for good reason."

"The day after tomorrow," Ann said. "Here, if you want, before you leave." She frowned, "We don't have many doctors who perform them, but I'll find one."

"OK," Bella whispered. She wanted to claw the thing out of her now, but kept her hands still at her sides. Act normal, she told herself. Get out of here, then you can get it out of you _._

"I...urge you to carefully evaluate your choice," she said. "It can't be undone."

A fresh wave of rage made Bella shake. She knew the woman meant well, but to be confined, to be told she couldn't make her own decisions. It made her appreciate the many small freedoms she was so utterly devoid of.

"Yes," she said through clenched teeth. "I understand."

Ann looked at her watch, and then Charlie. "I have to get to an appointment. I'll be back later to talk with you more, Bella."

Charlie huffed out a breath, watching her leave. "Do you want me to stay? I can get one of the deputy's to run my things over from the house. I don't want you alone here tonight."

"Dad, don't you have work?" She looked around at the clock, it was nearly one. "Is it your lunch break?" He was in full uniform, she realized.

"Yeah, thought I'd come see you," he huffed, "glad I did," and he squeezed her hand.

"I think you need to go to work," she said, feeling a wave of fuzziness. "Maybe...Esme can come for a bit?"

"OK, I'll call, but I'm not leaving you alone, if she's not available. Lord knows I've got enough unused vacation days," he muttered. He slipped out of the room, using the phone at the nurses station, pointedly making them check his ID before he came back in.

"She'll be here in a few minutes," he said, sitting in the chair, rubbing his face. He looked tired. Harried.

"Dad, I don't think you should spend the night. You need your own sleep."

"I'm fine," he said, "and there's no way in hell, I'm leaving you alone again."

"Maybe," Bella said tentatively, "Edward could spend the night?"

Charlie twitched, but governed his face before his feelings could spread. "Sure. If his parents are OK with that," he said. It was said with such a lack of enthusiasm, she almost thought he was saying no.

Her emotional, and whispered "thank you," made him cringe with guilt. Who was he to judge who she loved?

"If it helps you, I'm all for it," he added, in a much softer voice.

A quiet knock on the door some time later, and its answering buzz, made them look up from their silent conversation. Esme had arrived, apparently, with lunch. "I picked up some soup along the way," she said, "thought you might enjoy something other than hospital food."

Bella tried to hide her disappointment. The nurses didn't care if she didn't eat. The same could not be said for Esme. Or Charlie. Or Edward.

"Thanks," she said, trying not to look disgusted by the idea of eating. From the looks on Charlie and Esme's faces, she gathered that she hadn't been successful.

"You need to eat, Bella," Charlie said. "They're not going to let you leave until you do."

"I know," she said. She didn't add her silent, _it just disgusts me, physically_ , or, the darker, wordless fears for what it might nourish inside her.

With promises to come see her later that evening, Charlie left, leaving Bella with Esme, who coaxed her patiently through an entire bowl of soup. It was exhausting, riding over the revolt of her body presented her with. By mid-afternoon, Bella found herself sinking unwillingly into sleep.

When she woke, the shadows were long over Edward, who sat still, and silent, just over an arm's distance from her.

She felt like she'd finally woken up from a bad dream. "You're here," she whispered.

"I never left," he said, his face creased confusingly by worry and love.

She shifted herself up stretching out her hand, reaching for him. He stood, taking it, bringing it to his lips, closing his eyes, inhaling deeply, like a man finally finding air.

After a few minutes, he took another deep breath, steeling himself. "I have two things to tell you. Neither of them are news I want to deliver."

She tensed, squeezing his hand. "OK," she said, trying not to think too creatively.

"The first is the easiest. Dr. Ann will be coming and kicking me out so she can talk to you for about an hour. Then I'll be back until you make me leave."

"And the second?"

"The harder one," he said. "The pack suspects our intentions. The Volturi's demand."

She narrowed her eyes. "They suspect, or you told Jacob?"

It was his turn to look confused. "Why do you think I did?"

"Because he as much as told me you did." She pulled her hand away.

Edward felt like his chest was crumpling inwards, but kept his voice level. "The night he delivered your bike, he asked me to meet. They'd guessed, Bella, and he was sent to deliver a message. I...should have told you. Much earlier."

She looked at him, partially stunned. He was fessing up. Without her dragging it out of him. _Progress_ _,_ she thought. _That's what this is_ _._ It was accompanied by a profound relief, and what felt like ever-present tears.

She awkwardly got herself into a kneeling position, almost falling out of the bed, reaching for him. He lifted her over the rail, and she curled into herself on his lap, the velvet of his skin cold against the flush of her own.

Dr. Ann was half tempted to postpone the session again, seeing them, relieved to see Bella able to be touched. To trust. Thank god, she thought. She was mentally writing her discharge report, when she finally knocked on the door. Edward smiled, hearing her conclusions.

Digging her fingers into the cloth of his shirt, Bella pressed her nose to his throat, taking in his scent. If they had to be parted, she at least wanted to smell of him. She wished he'd brought a jacket to leave her with. She wondered briefly, if he'd leave his shirt, but decided that might not sound like the request of a sane woman.

"Come back, right after. Don't be far, please." She said, looking at him. He took her meaning. "I'll be just outside. In the waiting area." He lifted his chin in its direction.

He lifted her back into the bed, doing his bed to make it look difficult. He smiled at Bella, hearing the doctor's thoughts. He whispered, in parting, to Bella, "she has kind thoughts, you'll be OK." He felt a thrill as she grinned back at him.

"Oh," he added, in a voice the doctor would hear, "Esme wanted to know what you'd like for dinner. Maybe I can call her while you're busy?"

"I don't want her to go to any trouble," Bella said, shifting uneasily.

"She will, if you don't give her a direction," he said quietly.

Bella recognized the truth in this. "Soup would be great," she finally said, feeling defeated by the Cullen's tenacity in their feed-Bella-at-all-costs plan.

Tired of waiting for their prolonged goodbye, Ann shooed him away from the bed with her clipboard. "Food sounds like a good place to start. See you later, Edward," she smiled, authoritatively dismissing him.

"Yes ma'am," he said, with a mock-salute. He made a mental note to find a way to thank this woman. She had helped Bella, more than he had been able to. His gratitude was profound.

"So," Ann started, folding her legs, and bringing her pen to her folder, "let's talk about food."

Edward listened to the ebb and flow of their conversation, grateful again and again for her skill. She was skilled, far beyond what he would have expected for the small hospital that Forks hosted. By the time the hour was up, he had a deeper appreciation for her gifts—because they surpassed skill, that was certain.

He heard Esme's thoughts before he saw her. _Which soup_ _?_ She listed the several she'd made. He chose the Italian wedding soup. He wasn't sure she'd like it, but he liked the idea of something made for a marriage.

He took it from her with quiet thanks. He loved that her love for Bella was expressed so tangibly, and that Bella accepted it, unlike so many other forms.

The evening took on a note of blessed normalcy, between quiet chatter, and simple togetherness. He persisted with the soup, and after a solid hour of bribing her with her with news, and cuddles, she had eaten a meal.

 _Two in one day_ , he thought. _Almost normal._ I'll take it. He comforted himself with these thoughts, and the deep pleasure of holding her, bodily, along with her most tender cares, in his arms.


	35. Strategies

**Strategies**

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Author's note: I'm having so much fun writing this story. Hope you're enjoying it too. Your thoughts and comments are _very_ motivating.

* * *

He hadn't wanted to break the peace of their time, especially when he had to leave soon, to go to school. _School_ , he scoffed. The principal had called though, and the silent reproach of his family, weighed on him. _Unwanted attention_ , he told himself, _will only hurt Bella_.

"Have you made a decision?" he asked softly, watching her rest her injured arm over her abdomen.

She nodded, but offered no immediate words, struggling instead, to sit up with her one good arm. "I'm having an abortion, as soon as I can," she said, looking, he realized, embarrassed.

"Why?" he asked, intent on her face.

Her eyes widened at this. "Do you...really need me to explain, why?" She asked, her breath coming faster, shallower.

"No, no, no," he said quickly, squeezing her hand, "you misunderstand me. I'm not questioning your choice, or that you have good reasons, I just want to understand your reasons."

She paused for a moment, considering this. "It ties me to him," she said. "It's his. Aren't those enough?"

He nodded. "Of course they are, but it doesn't have to tie you to him, and it doesn't have to be his," he said quietly.

"What do you mean?" She was confused, but he could hear her body was calm. She trusted him.

He rubbed his fingers over her hand, his favorite gesture. "I want you to know that you have the choice, and I will support you, whatever you decide. Don't discount any option."

"Are you saying you want me to keep it?" She asked, now uncertain.

"No," he shook his head, "I simply want you to know that you can, if you want to. I'll be with you, Bella, whatever you choose." He thought for a moment, and added, "And happy, simply to be with you, in pursuit of your heart's desire."

"You'd raise"—she couldn't bring herself to say the word, 'baby'—but gestured to her stomach, " _this_ , with me?"

"You've hit on the key phrase," he said, "with you," kissing her hand. "Yes, I would. Happily."

He let this sink in, savouring her closeness, readying himself to leave.

She leaned into him over the bedrail, her head on his shoulder. He could feel the wetness spreading on his shirt. Het let his arms rest gently at her sides. "I mean it."

She nodded, pulling back, wiping her eyes.

"Sorry about your shirt," she smiled, apologetically.

He shook his head, dismissing her apology, "you're so brave. Fierce, even. Your tears are worth wearing."

It was not getting easier to extricate himself, and he sighed. "I have to go. Apparently, I need to do a better job pretending to be human. At school."

She pulled on his hands, her grip harder than he expected. "Wait," she said. "Just a minute." She was breathing faster, but in a way he recognized, and he tilted his head, ever so slightly, smiling, letting his eyes crinkle. He could see something shift—melt, even—in her shoulders, and she pulled him to her, bringing their lips together. Her heart fluttered, and he gently, ever so carefully, let his hands wrap around her torso. He wanted to tumble into her, lose himself in the warmth of her breath, and feel the pounding of her heart under his own chest. That she wanted him, still, was intoxicating.

Their moment was interrupted by a persistent buzzing in his pocket. He groaned, pulling away from her, holding her head in his hands, inhaling the scent of her hair. "What are you willing to bet, that that's Alice?"

Bella didn't answer, but groaned at the loss of his touch.

He answered the phone tartly. "Yes, Alice, I am coming. I promise. Despite what you see."

"What does she see?" Bella asked, eyes suddenly bright.

"Me going to school," he sighed. He stuffed the phone back into his pocket, and stood, watching his heart beat across from him. "I will come back as soon as it's done," he said. "I promise."

"I'll be here," she sighed.

Esme was signing in as he left, mentally reassuring him as he walked away. He felt dogged by a visceral jealousy, not wanting to share Bella, even with Esme. He was twisted up into all sorts of knots by the time he reached the parking lot.

Jasper was projecting a wave of clammy calm, and Edward all but growled, feeling it cloy. "Not today," he snarled, getting in.

"Play nice, Edward," Alice said, giving Jasper the benefit of her vocal support. "We're on your side, remember?"

He did, and apologized.

"Just another day, right?" Alice said. "Then she can go home."

But Edward could see that the possibilities were fractured. That she could wind up staying, longer, recovering...from what, it was fuzzy, but he could see the flashes of her going home, too.

"I'll let you know if it becomes clearer," she said, looking at him in the rear view mirror.

He nodded, slumping into his own thoughts. He decided to linger in the memory of their last moments, and Jasper's eyebrows shot up with surprise, and speculation.

"Thoughts front and centre, Major," Edward said, a generously sardonic note to his voice.

"Yess'um," came the equally sardonic reply. "Glad you two are better, because you're a miserable bastard when you're not."

Edward couldn't help but laugh, feeling his own mood lighten. He returned to his memories, and brought his hands to his face, inhaling her scent. It would have to do, he told himself, to carry him through the day.

"Can you talk to me about your choice, to abort?" Ann asked, taking a quick sip of water between notes. Seeing Bella's look of alarm, she added, "there's no right answer to that. I just want to hear what you're thinking."

Bella answered warily. "It...joins us," she said, still uncomfortable with this. "And to be reminded, daily...of it. I can't." She could feel the tears brimming, but the anxiety at shedding them in front of the woman was less, each time they talked.

Ann nudged the box of tissues on the bedside table closer. "Have you considered other options?"

She nodded, uncomfortable with the line of questioning.

Ann, sensing the discomfort, said "I know it's hard to talk about this, but it's important to consider these things. The choice you're planning on is a permanent one."

Bella let the notion of Jacob's child flitter across her mind. Of him, or her, turning into a werewolf. Abhorrent to the father that raised it, potentially. Or killing him. _No_ , she said, shivering. No. She shook her head. "No, I'm decided."

"Alright," Ann said, "let's talk about the procedure then. It needs to be done in a hospital, or a clinic, by a doctor."

"OK," Bella said, that made sense.

"You'll be sedated—"

"No," Bella said, firmly. "No sedation."

Ann paused, watching her. "Why no sedation?"

"Aside from being sedated against my will, twice now, here?" she snorted. "I've had enough of having to remember what happened to me. I don't want to add more to the que of things that needs to be 'processed.'" She curled her fingers into hooks, emphasizing the word.

"OK," Ann said, making a note. "I will warn you, I don't know of any doctor willing to perform the procedure without it."

"I'll find someone," Bella murmured.

Ann nodded, but worried too.

"Can we talk about some strategies then, for managing any traumatic episodes?"

"We have," Bella said, "and they've been...working." She couldn't help but still feel surprised by the successes, touching her lips absentmindedly, feeling again the touch of Edward's there.

"I was thinking about during the procedure," she clarified.

Bella looked at her waiting, her eyebrows pushed together.

"It's a vaginal procedure, Bella."

Oh. She blushed, and then blanched.

"You thought it was surgical?"

Bella nodded. She was recovering quickly, trying to imagine how she would manage. "Sure, let's talk strategies."

So they did.

"You're sure you don't want to be sedated?" Ann asked again. Bella's head shake was more exasperated this time.

"Do you want me to make enquiries on your behalf?" Ann asked, standing, stretching, as she prepared to leave.

"Would you mind asking Dr. Cullen?" Bella said, feeling a twist of guilt, for giving the woman a needless task.

"Sure," she said. "I'm signing your discharge for tomorrow morning," seeing Bella's look, adding, "which is the earliest I can legally give you."

Bella sighed loudly in relief.

"Please understand, that doesn't mean I don't want to see you again. I think you could still use some help." She raised her eyebrows, looking at Bella.

"I think that would be good, too," she said quietly, "but maybe, we could meet somewhere else?"

Ann laughed. It was a lovely, light sound. "I have an office in town for my private practice. We can meet there, if you like."

"I would," she said. "Thank you."

Their business concluded, Ann stepped out, and Bella savoured the thought of freedom, and home.


	36. The Devil's Work

The Devil's Work

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Author's note: This was hard to write, and I expect, will be harder for you to read. Rated M for a reason.

* * *

Carlisle had hoped, with a bitter selfishness, that Bella would ask someone else.

Anyone, really, just not him.

Of course, he knew, he was partly to blame. They'd left. And left her with a pack of adolescent wolves at her doorstep. Worse, he knew what was there, where her friendships lay. Where she'd go. And he'd chosen to leave.

It was a suitable punishment, he mused, that he would be asked to destroy the harm he'd planted.

Killing the unborn.

 _The devil's work_ , his ancient mind supplied.

How suitably villainesque for a vampire.

He remembered, still, from the dim haze of his human life, the vitriol with which his own father had pursued the women who'd traded in such dark arts. Potions. Spells. Charms that barred a child. Beatings, whippings, and finally, burnings, were the progression of punishment he'd witnessed.

He knew, in his logical mind, the ultimate mercy such modern treatments offered. Suffering was almost ubiquitous for those born unwanted. He'd wished for such methods in his early years, but resented and recoiled from the wielding of them, when they had arrived.

The request, that it be done without sedation, was a true shock. That in itself was a rarity, when dealing with human beings, even Bella.

"Can you explain, why?" He'd asked, his mind running to a distorted sense of guilt, self-punishment for her making this choice.

"You'll need to ask her yourself," Ann had said, frowning a little that he'd asked. _Surely he knew this was privileged?_ , she thought. _His son's girlfriend. How awful. It must be straining his judgement some._

He had finished his rounds, and, finding a quiet moment in the day, had gone to visit her. He was pleased to see they checked his ID, despite his familiar face.

Esme had excused herself, and Carlisle sat beside Bella's bed. "You know, I think you are the only person I've actually ever visited in a hospital, Bella," he smiled. Letting this good moment settle, he added, "Ann said you'd asked if I could perform the procedure."

"I figured you'd say yes," she said, a little nervously, and he realised, she wasn't sure he would.

"Of course I will," he said, "but I'm concerned about the lack of sedation." He paused, waiting for her to respond. She simply nodded. "Can you explain why?"

She did, and he took a deep breath in. "Yes. I can see why." He thought for a moment. "Are you open to taking anything to manage the pain?"

"Sure, as long as it doesn't leave me feeling fuzzy."

That narrowed down his list of options considerably. "There are a few choices," he said, "but you will feel everything," he said, the warning in his voice clear, "and I will need you to be still." He let her consider this before he asked, "Do you think you can do that?"

"Can Edward be there?"

"Yes."

"Then yes, I can." She sounded so certain, but he harboured doubts, and agreed with an unspoken, and wary reluctance. He understood her reasons, but they didn't mitigate what would be a gruesome experience.

Charlie had fewer qualms about Bella's choice, mostly because she didn't mention any details about the procedure.

"You're sure?" he asked, "you don't want me to pick you up after? Or be there...outside, or something, waiting?"

"No Dad, Esme's going to take me home. Wait with me." She didn't say that Edward would be there too. Doing a poor job imitating a human. He was coming down with another something nasty gastrointestinally, for school purposes.

When the time came, she was eager to walk out of the room that had been her prison for three days, leaning ever so slightly on Edward's arm, towards a smaller procedural room.

"Edward," she said, sitting down on the bed. "I don't ever want to come back to this hospital again." He looked at her, and saw, mostly clearly, how serious she was.

"OK," he said, "you won't then." He and Carlisle exchanged meaningful looks, and Carlisle mentally unfolded a set of plans he'd tucked away, exploring the possibilities of treating her elsewhere. Yes, he thought, I think we can manage that.

Nodding, Edward closed the door, both their backs turned, as Bella slipped off her clothes, and pulled on the gown Carlisle had brought.

She laid back down, draping the paper cloth over legs. "I'm ready."

Edward sat beside her, his hand over hers, a talisman against her fears.

"You'll feel my touch, Bella," Carlisle said softly. His thoughts were louder, and in them Edward could hear the steady intonation of the prayer of St. Francis.

His fingers were cool, and raised no spectres.

"I'm putting in the speculum now," he said, his voice quiet in the small space. The distention of her flesh tugged a weal of memory, and she fought the urge to shove his hands away, her breathing coming faster. Carlisle stopped, feeling her tense, and said quietly, "deep breath in, and then out," waiting for her body to relax on the exhale before inserting it fully. She was gripping Edward's hand with her full force, her jaw tightly clenched. Carlisle looked at Edward, sparks of worry in his thoughts.

"Can you try to relax your muscles, Bella?" he asked, rubbing her fingers gently.

She nodded, and closed her eyes, muscles still taut. "Edward?"

"Yes," he answered, a soft squeeze on her hand.

"Can you hold me, please? Sit behind me?" Her voice was tremulous.

"Sure." He lifted her up with one arm, and slid behind her, not letting go. He circled his arms around her. "Better?"

"Yes," she choked out. "I'm ready, Carlisle."

Carlisle picked up the topical anesthetic, applying it, and then inserted a syringe. "Deep breath in, and then out." She hissed in a breath, but didn't move, feeling the sting. The cervix numbed as much as possible, Carlisle began the slow process of opening it. Bella tried, with focused determination, to breath through the pain.

Watching her fight through it, Edward had a taste of what fathers bore, watching their lovers labour. "It's OK to make noise," he whispered.

"How much?" she gritted out.

"As much as you need to," Carlisle answered. "This is what women feel when they're in labour, Bella."

She responded with a low growl that curled into a deep yell.

She could hear them encouraging her, trying to coax her through the pain. They didn't know, and she didn't tell them that it wasn't just the physical pain she was feeling, but the memory of what Jacob had done, coalescing in the instruments inside her, burning her afresh.

Edward wrapped his arms around her, stilling her when she couldn't herself. "You're safe," he breathed, "it'll be over soon." He was trying to keep his own self together, utterly powerless to help her to the other side of it.

It was the whirr of the vacuum that jarred her back into the room. It produced a soft, shooshing sound, and offered the least disturbing of the sensations.

Making his last sweep with the cannula, Carlisle set the pump aside, draping it with a cloth. The products within would need to be examined, to ensure the procedure was complete, but he was confident in his work. There would be no need to subject her to more.

The grief that weighed on him, was unexpected, and he let the mask of his professional face sit, as he rattled through the more routine words and postoperative care.

A course of antibiotics. No bathing or swimming. No sexual intercourse without a condom. She'd blushed at the intimation, but nodded, eyes averted. She refused the prescription painkillers.

Carlisle resisted the urge to throw them at her.

Instead, he and Edward stepped outside, and Esme stepped in to help Bella dress.

"Thank you," Edward said, watching Carlisle. He wasn't tired, but he was weary, his thoughts a slow chug. He tucked the canister under his arm. "I'll take this to the lab for verification," he said quietly, excusing himself.

Edward watched him go, hearing in the internal thrum of his mind, a deliberate recitation of the sermon on the mount.

"Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted," murmured Edward, echoing his father's thoughts, when Carlisle was out of earshot. "I hope you will be."


	37. He Said

He said

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Author's note: Jacob is swimming in a river in Egypt called de-nial. Grief wears many faces.

* * *

It rankled, that he would be thought of so.

 _Dude, really, you need to stop dwelling on it._

 _Yeah. Uh-huh. Give it a rest! Puh-leeese,_ came the affirmative chorus.

An unspoken silence commanded theirs, and the conversation was ended by the mental equivalent of a grunt.

Tired of the exercise. Too tired to exercise, Jacob phased, and released himself from the web of their mind.

The relief was mutual.

He inserted himself in, and mulled over, the memory of that night.

There had been no sign. No warning. Just their togetherness.

Maybe it had been the giddiness that got to him. Made him so careless with her.

She'd jumped off a cliff. _Off a cliff._

He'd told her it was safe, said they could do it together—but he hadn't thought she'd actually do it. Not _alone_. Never imagined he'd have to pump the water from her lungs, wondering if she was dead.

He shook off the shudder that wanted him.

 _No._

He'd been burning up with relief. With the feelings he didn't want to deny.

She had hit her head. He should have been more careful. Definitely. That was on him.

But after?— _Rape?_ —Really? How did you know? How could you tell? Should he have stopped, asked her? She'd been so...engaged, in it. He remembered her hands, clinging, the splay of her legs, pushing up into him. Her moans when he'd touched her. What else could she have possibly meant?

Here, he revisited his favorite theory, that she had wanted to, and that it was the hit to the head that knocked the inhibitions away. Jarred them loose, enough, to move on what she really felt.

This theory bled into his next favorite, where this whole rape thing was a distorted regret, fuelled by confused feelings over him. God that bastard had messed her up. Likely planted the idea.

His muscles tensed. He didn't want to think about what else he'd— _they'd_ pushed into her head. Or what they were planning to do to her.

And there, he needed a plan. They couldn't, and they wouldn't. No. Not while he still breathed. And definitely not while she was still pregnant.

He felt the choke in his throat at the thought of losing her.

He missed her deeply. Still. Even after all of this ridiculousness. After her rejection.

Even after this betrayal.

Even after Charlie had called, and nearly blown one of his ear drums out, yelling. Echoing Bella's accusation.

 _Rape_ , he sneered.

As if.


	38. Sleep

**Sleep**

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Author's note: Twilight. Margaret Atwood. Kissing. Total English teachery smut. Happy Friday, all!

* * *

"For the entire weekend? Really?" Renee asked.

"I'm really behind," Edward said, looking appropriately embarrassed. "It's been busy." He smiled at Bella, and his face softened. So did Renee's heart.

 _This boy has it bad._ "Your loss, Edward," she said lightly. "Alright, enjoy your term paper. Come on, Bella, let's go and enjoy some sun. Maybe some swimming, too?"

"Some sun sounds great. I'll hold off on the water though," she said.

"Really?" Renee said, her head snapped back in surprise, "You love swimming, come on. No one will mind how much you look like an sunless mushroom."

"No," Bella said, blushing, "it's not that."

Catching her drift, Renee rolled her eyes. "I'm sure Edward won't melt if you tell him you have your period, Bella."

Bella made another, most convincing blush, looking away. "Thanks mom. So glad you offer the humiliation Dad can't handle."

"Oh, you're welcome darling," she said arily. "Come on, let's go roast on the beach. I'll do the swimming for you then."

Edward decided that he liked Renee. Watching them walk—and Bella trip—down the house's front path, he reluctantly pulled out one of the books Alice had handed him before they left.

"Margaret Atwood?" He asked, a skeptical eyebrow raised.

"Don't be such a literary prude, Edward," she answered him. "She's a seminal Canadian artist. And if you're thinking of going north, eventually, with Bella, you should read some of her work."

"Poetry, Alice?" he asked, wondering if she expected them to recite it to the Caribou before they ate them.

"Yes," she sighed, "I don't just dabble in fashion, you know." Dusting a bit of lint off his shirt, she'd added, "besides, I know you're going to love 'Variation on the Word Sleep.'"

He'd taken it with a good natured sigh, and she'd called out, "you're welcome!", dancing away.

He flipped open the book, and as Alice had seen, the pages tapered neatly to the poem's words.

He smiled, reading it.

How apt.

 _Alice_ , he thought. It was the sound of a mixed benediction.

He'd dutifully played his part that evening, tucking himself into the covers on the couch, waiting until the regularity of Renee's breathing told him it was safe to steal upstairs.

"Somehow," Bella said, watching him slide into the room, "this feels much more scandalous than at home."

"It feels scandalous?" he asked.

She grinned, "very."

"Oh," he said, pretending to look shocked, "should I leave then?"

"Don't you dare!" She said, moving to stand up.

Watching her wobble, he reached her before she could trip, topple, or fall.

He'd been careful with her. He was always careful with her, but now it was different. His touch was more uncertain, unsure of what it might release. He hated to see her struggle with the flashbacks—watch her choke on the memory. They were getting better, steadily, but any sudden stillness in her filled him with dread.

"I'm OK," she said, watching his face.

"Do I looked worried?" he asked.

"Yes, you do, actually," she smiled.

"Really?" He asked, surprised. He'd had years of schooling his face to wear the mask he needed.

"Mm-hmm," she said, running a finger from his clavicle to sternum. She tapped it there, authoritatively.

She was swaying, ever so slightly, sleep making its claims known.

"You're tired," he smiled.

"Mmm," she said, letting her body lean in closer to his.

He swept an arm under her, and laid her neatly back into the bed.

"Show-off," she murmured, but smiled at him still.

"If you say so," he said, laying on the edge of the bed, reaching to brush a strand of her hair off her face.

"Stop." Her hand had reached his before he could tuck it behind her ear. "No," she whispered.

She closed her eyes, and he dropped his hands away, wondering if it was just now, or if this gesture, too, was forbidden. Like so many others.

"Sorry," she said, opening her eyes, looking at him.

He shook his head. "Don't be, you've nothing to apologise for." He wanted to touch her, to reassure her, but didn't know how, and didn't want to burden her with his own wants.

Her eyelids were drooping, and he could see her fighting to stay awake. She brought her hand to his, curling over to face him in the bed. Their bodies curved together making the angular shape of a heart.

"Sleep," he said gently, letting his fingers brush tentatively over hers.

She grunted in reply. "Easy enough for you to say, oh sleepless vampire."

He smiled, "I would if I could, but watching you sleep will have to do." It recalled to him what he'd read, earlier, and he recited the lines for her,

"I would like to sleep

with you, to enter

your sleep as its smooth dark wave

slides over my head."

"What is that?" she mumbled, intrigued.

"A poem," he said, "from a book that Alice gave me to read."

Bella perked up a bit at this. Alice always had good literary selections. "Who by?"

Edward was running his finger lightly up and down her forearm, watching the gooseflesh rise, pleased that the shiver was one of pleasure. "Margaret Atwood," he whispered, daring to kiss her behind her ear. This too, brought her a flutter of pleasure.

"Tell me more," she breathed, distracted by the pleasant collusion of his lips and words.

"I would walk with you through that lucent  
wavering forest of bluegreen leaves  
with its watery sun & three moons  
towards the cave where you must descend,"

He paused, taking a breath, and kissed her shoulder, "towards your worst fear."

Bella could well imagine what that was. She shivered, this time not with pleasure, and he paused, but she whispered, "go on."

"I would like to give you the silver  
branch, the small white flower, the one  
word that would protect you  
from the grief at the center  
of your dream, from the grief  
at the center."

Bella was becoming still, feeling the blossoming of this very real grief. Edward had laid back slowly, his face contorted in worry, watching her tears spring. She nodded, silently, encouraging him.

"I would...become  
the boat that would row you back  
carefully, a flame  
in two cupped hands  
to where your body lies  
beside me."

Hadn't he? She thought. Hadn't _they_? Come back? Together?

Sometimes, she wondered.

"I would like to be the air  
that inhabits you for a moment  
only. I would like to be that unnoticed  
& that necessary."

She wanted to ask if that was all, if there wasn't more. But it was enough. He was her air, that necessary, but certainly not unnoticed. She reached out to him with her hands, drawing his own breath close to hers, their kiss making it one.


	39. Two truths, and a lie

Two truths, and a lie

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

"If I asked you to do something, would you trust me?" Edward said, a sharp edge to his soft voice.

"Like what?" Bella asked, suspicions rising.

"Stay in the car, until I come back and get you?"

"Why?"

He didn't answer, but kept his eyes ahead. She followed his gaze, and the answer became apparent. He was leaning back against his bike, arms folded, face impassive, towering over the people walking circumspectly around him.

"Oh," she said, feeling her gut twist.

"He wants to talk to me," he said, taking her hand. "You don't need to see him."

She processed this for a moment. "What does he want to talk to you about?"

"He has a message from Sam," Edward said, evading the question.

"What is it?"

Edward didn't reply. Bella's eyes narrowed.

"Then no, I'm not waiting in the car," she said through her clenched teeth.

"Bella, wait—"

"No," she said, getting out the car. "You promised you wouldn't keep things from me. What is it?"

He frowned, looking at her, trying to think of what to tell her.

"I'm sure Jacob will tell me then."

"Bella!" he called, as she walked away.

He caught up with her easily, walking backwards, facing her. "Do you really want to talk to him—here?"

She stopped. "No, I don't. I want to have to stop demanding the truth from you," she growled. Her anger made an excellent shield for all the other feelings that were making themselves known, just under the surface of her skin.

They were close enough to Jacob that he could see, with certainty, that she was still her. He held his ground, but allowed himself a small exhale of relief, watching Bella push forward. He could hear the hiss of their conversation— _no_ , their _argument_. He smirked mentally, despite himself. _Good_. Maybe she was realising just what kind of creature he was.

When they finally both faced him, he didn't move, but called out, "I've got a message from Sam." His voice was quiet, but it carried a hint of menace.

"I've heard it," Edward said, his distaste clear.

"I haven't." Bella said, folding her own arms.

"Paul and Emmett had a misunderstanding," Edward said quickly. Too quickly. "About where the boundary is." He looked sideways at Bella, saying "it's nothing," shaking his head.

"We would have had her if you hadn't interfered," Jacob said, looking at Edward. He raised a finger, and pointed it accusingly at him, "so stay off our land."

Bella had realized who the her was. She blanched. She was still here. Still trying to get to her.

"You didn't tell her," Jacob said, not surprised, but the frustration, the anger on his face was clear. Looking at her, he added, "and you think I'm the bad guy. I've never lied to you Bella. Ever."

She blinked at him, feeling the sting in this truth, realizing the extent of Edward's lie.

"You convinced me to go away, because of this?" She looked at him, hoping it wasn't true. Hoping it was because he'd wanted her to see her mom. "Did you?"

He nodded.

"And Charlie? You left him—?"

"Protected at all times," Edward said.

Jacob took a step forward. Bella matched it with a step back.

"Don't," Edward warned him, moving between them.

"I never lied to you Bella. Never tried to hurt you. Never abandoned you," he offered. "And you didn't think I'd done anything wrong until he suggested it."

Jacob's finger pointed again at Edward, who stood halfway between them.

"He won't even let me talk to you alone. He's afraid you might hear something he doesn't want you to."

Bella said nothing, but listened.

"I'll be here Bella, waiting. Until—until your heart stops beating."

At this he turned to walk away.

"Then you won't have long to wait," she said.

When he turned back, the determined look on her face stunned him more than her words. He glanced between Bella and Edward. He gave away nothing, but the anger in her heavy breath made him stop. Would she? While she was—?

"When?" he asked.

Bella was regretting opening her mouth.

 _"When_ _?"_ he asked again, this time skirting Edward, and grabbing Bella's arm.

A small crowd of students had gathered by this point, and they were shifting excitedly, sensing the beginning of a fight.

"Let. Her. Go." Edward gritted out between his teeth. He wanted to make Jacob let go, but was afraid Bella might get hurt. In the periphery of his mind, he was aware that it would draw a lot of unwanted attention, but the urge to break Jacob was growing stronger.

Bella was shaking, trembling really. "Please stop. It hurts," she whispered.

Jacob let go immediately, horrified. "Sorry," he said, looking at his hand. He wanted to say, _I'm still learning my own strength, or sometimes I don't realise how strong I am_ _,_ but he knew it would sound like the weak excuse it was, so he simply said, "I'm sorry, I don't want to hurt you—Bella, please, don't let them. Come to us. We'll protect you. Both." He reached a hand to her midsection, and she skittered away, tripping backwards.

Edward reached her, grabbing her before she could fall.

Jacob and Edward began a low, and heated conversation, made in an exchange of growled threats. Above it, Bella could hear the titter of excited whispers around her. _Oh my god, do you think she's pregnant? I mean, I wonder which one...no wonder she's been so out of it._

"Take me home, please," she said, feeling the shake creep up her back.

Without a final word to Jacob, Edward turned, and slid his arm under her, walking her back to the car.

She wished she'd stayed there in the first place.


	40. Sleepovers

Sleepovers

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

"If you think you can justify choices like that, then I think you do need to go hunt," she'd said, bluntly, not sparing his feelings.

"No," she said again. "I'm fine," and hung up.

The sting of tears surprised her.

She was angry. She didn't want sadness or disappointment clouding it. Anger was such a...clean emotion. Devoid of the messiness of so many others.

She flexed her right hand again. Carlisle had stopped by earlier in the evening to take it off, much to her relief. She'd expected to have to go to him. He'd knocked on the door, looking, as much as he could, like a tired doctor on his way home. "Thought I'd make one house call," he'd smiled. "Edward said you were busy tonight."

Busy. Was that the code word for pissed as hell?

"Yeah," she said, "term paper." The standard Cullen lie.

"Mmm," he'd said, gesturing to the table, pulling scissors out of his bag.

Charlie had arrived downstairs from changing out of his uniform, surprised too, at Carlisle's presence. "Oh, thanks Carlisle, but I could have taken her in—" he'd started.

"No, no, it's fine. I figured it would be good to have the weekend to get used to it being off," he'd smiled. Looking at Bella, adding, "it takes a bit of getting used to, having a support like this off. Change can be...difficult."

She'd all but glared back at him.

Change.

Was he really making excuses for Edward? For him lying, again?

He'd cut into the cast, and peeled it off, leaving her hand feeling like a limp, dead, fish. She'd rubbed at it, wondering at the fresh, and strange sensation of flesh over flesh, and shivered.

"May I?" He'd asked, watching her carefully. He'd held out his hand for hers.

Laying her arm back on the table, she wondered at his touch. So much like Edward's, but not. He was a perfect clinician, checking over the bones with the light touch of his own fingers, using no more pressure than necessary.

"Any pain?" he asked, seeing her flex her hand.

"No," she said, "none there."

"Good. It will be weak, and difficult to use, but use it as much as you can. Rest if it hurts. Call me if the pain persists."

She nodded.

"Thank you, Carlisle," Charlie said, eyeing Bella from across the table.

"Thank you for stopping by," she said, seeing Charlie's glare, adding silently _and passing on Edward's not so subtle message._

"I hear you're all going camping this weekend?"

"We are, except for Alice," he said levelly.

"Term paper?" she asked airly. Rubbing his nose in the lie.

"Something like that," Carlisle smiled, raising his eyebrows, and looking at Bella when Charlie turned his back. "Actually, Charlie, would you mind if Bella spent the night, with Alice, tomorrow? I hate to leave her for the whole weekend, and she wouldn't ask, but I think she'd appreciate the company."

If Bella wasn't worried about breaking her foot on his shin, she would have kicked Carlisle under the table.

"You don't mind, do you Bella?"

"Actually, I've got a lot of work to catch up on—" Bella started.

"Aww, come on, you two can do it together. Paint your toenails too, or something," Charlie waved his hand dismissively, from the sofa.

Carlisle had stood at this point, and Bella did too, an angry red flush painting up her neck and cheeks. "Sure," she said through clenched teeth, looking at him.

"Have a good night," Carlisle said mildly, and saw himself out.

Bella had promptly huffed her way upstairs, and called Edward to give him a piece of her mind.

In the morning, she was still stewing, thrashing her way through her chores. Charlie, taking quick stock of her mood, had determined that going to work was the happier alternative to staying home. After a grumpy, solitary breakfast, Bella settled into her school work, her books spread over the table.

When the doorbell rang, she was in the middle of an equation that she had just managed to wrap her head around, and mumbled the numbers to herself as she went to the door, trying to hold the pieces together in her mind.

She was still mumbling them under her breath when she opened the door, and saw Jacob on her front porch.

She froze.

"Hi," he said, taking a deep breath in.

She couldn't speak. Some part of her mind registered the danger though, because she followed her first instinct, which was to slam the door.

Jacob stopped it with his hand.

"I just want to talk—without him around"

"No." She said, and tried again to close the door.

"Bella, please," and he pushed the door open, stepping inside.

She turned to run, but he blocked her path.

"Please," he said again, "Five minutes, OK?"

She was evaluating her escape routes, the panic rising. _He wouldn't, would he?_ Her body had other ideas, and her heart was thudding, breaths coming faster than she wanted them to. She tried to duck around him again, but he blocked her again.

The look on his face was pained, as he stood barring her way from the kitchen.

"Why don't you sit down?" He said calmly, pointing his hand to the table.

It was too strange, too much like the night before, and she shook her head, trying to throw off the confused parallels of Carlisle's visit.

"OK," Jacob said, his voice still even. He waited a few minutes, wanting to make sure she was OK, not afraid. He could see her breathing slow down, and he took a slow step backwards, leaning against the door frame, trying to look relaxed.

The step back sent the silent signal Bella's body was waiting for, and the panic began its slow descent down her body. It was replaced by shivering. Reaching behind her, Bella found Charlie's chair, and sat down. His sweater was there, and she slipped it on, taking comfort in the familiar smell.

Bella was trying not to think of what had happened to Alice. She had said she would be outside, watching. Keeping her safe. What if—?

She stopped herself from thinking further along those lines

"Bella," Jacob started again, "will you please tell me what you think happened?"

Her eyes darted up at him, and then back down.

Do not be honest, her mind told her. Lie.

"Charlie called, he said you told him I'd _raped_ you. That is not what I remember happening. At all. What do you remember?"

 _He_ didn't remember? He didn't _remember?_

A wave of anger picked up the words and threw them at him. "I hit my head Jacob, so hard I could barely see straight, and you thought it was a good time to have sex with me?"

"You—" he began.

"Raped me." she finished.

"You wanted to." He said through clenched teeth, standing up, pointing at her. "You spread your legs and moaned and clung to me—"

"I couldn't move, or talk, or think two things together—"

"Your body said yes to everything I did!"

"I think the bruises and stitches say otherwise, Jacob!"

He was stopped by this, frowning, his face a dark flush, "I'm sorry, I...I still don't understand how strong I am Bella, it's, it's...difficult," he finished, frustrated by how inadequate it sounded. "I never wanted to hurt you. I would never hurt you deliberately."

"You did."

"I don't deny it. But I didn't rape you."

 _What the hell did he think he'd done?_

She shook, this time with anger.

He'd planned his next words. "What about the second time? Hmm?"

She blushed through her anger, and swallowed the lump in her throat. "I didn't want to," she whispered, unsure of herself, still trying to make sense of it.

"Did I force you? Physically hold you down? Threaten you?"

"No." It was barely a breath.

"Was there anything that stopped you from saying no?"

She shook her head, the tears starting.

"How can you say that was rape, Bella?"

"I didn't," she whispered.

"That sure the hell isn't what Charlie thinks." He shook his head, shifting, hands balled in fists at his elbows. "How can you say I raped you when you were so willing the next time? How?"

She had no answers for him. Or herself, and instead, looked down. "It's been five minutes," she said standing, "you need to leave now."

"You were fine—we were fine, until he came back. It wasn't until then that you said anything." He shook his head, "I mean, did he get angry, or threaten to hurt you because we—"

"No," she said, her vehemence pushing out a "he would never."

Jacob looked relieved at this. "Or because of the baby?"

She looked at him, and felt a hot anger welling up inside her. "No," she gritted out, and pointed to the front door.

He folded his arms again, and stayed at the doorway.

She stood, and moved to walk out of the kitchen, but he grabbed her arm. She hissed in a breath, feeling the sting of his grip. It was like a vice. "Is this more of you not hurting me Jake?" Her voice was openly shaking now, "like yesterday?"

The pressure lessened considerably, but his voice was full of feeling when he spoke. "I would rather grab your arm, and have you see sense, than let him kill you, Bella." He swallowed, moving her hand to sit on his chest. "My heart still beats, Bella." He held it there, while she looked down, her hand trapped. "Because I'm alive. He's dead, Bella. And he wants to make you that way too." He took a deep breath before saying his next words. "I love you. You know that. What I think you won't acknowledge, is that you love me too." He watched her, eyes still studying the floor through her heavy breathing. "I think that's why you're hiding in this rape accusation. It's easier than admitting what you feel. We had something, and it could have been so much more...if he hadn't come back," he said, a ripple of bitterness clinging to his words. "And we still can." Here he moved his other hand to cradle her abdomen.

Something inside Bella exploded.

And so did she. She lashed out, hitting and kicking him without care for where they landed. It took him only a moment to snatch her hands together and turn her around, pinning her arms to her sides.

It was at this moment that Charlie opened the front door.

"Hands off. Now," he said, moving slowly, carefully inside.

Jacob let Bella go. "I just came to talk," he said, looking at Charlie.

"Sure you did," he said levelly, "outside, now."

Jacob decided to stand his ground. "I came to talk. Ask her."

"Bella, you want him to stay and talk?"

"No," she whispered. "I don't."

"Let her go, Jacob. Now."

Jacob was clenching his jaw, looking like he was working up to saying more.

"Outside. Now. Next request comes with a pair of handcuffs."

"I have parental rights," he growled.

"No," Charlie said, with a disbelieving laugh, "you don't."

"She's pregnant!" Jacob yelled back.

"Not anymore, she isn't." Charlie spat out, keeping his eyes on him.

Seeing them move closer together, Bella backed up to the wall, trying to stay out of the way. Her legs seemed to be jellying, and she began to slide down it. Seeing this, Charlie took another step towards Jacob. "Turn around," he told him gruffly, "hands behind your back."

Jacob, wisely, made the best decision of his day, and strode to the doorway, slamming it open on his way out. Charlie watched him go with a heavy breath out, grateful he hadn't called his bluff.

Alice arrived not too long after. "Bella?" she called, knocking on the open door.

Charlie called out, "she's OK," he said, "shaken up, though. Thank God you called."

"Yeah," she said, looking at Bella.

Bella was huddled, arms around her knees, back still against the wall. She looked at Alice, whose loud, and silent apology was written in her eyes.

"Let's go to your place, Alice," she said. "I think I'd feel better spending the night there."

"Bella," Charlie started, clearly reproachful.

"No dad," she said, cutting him off. "I can't stay here. Not tonight. If you want to stay with us, I think that would be OK, right, Alice?"

"Sure," she said, hesitant. "I think we'll be fine, though. I don't think Jacob knows where you'll be? Where I live?"

Bella shook her head.

Charlie looked at Bella. "Do you want me to stay with you?"

"No," she said quickly, "I'll be fine."

Alice insisted on gathering up Bella's things. When they walked to her car, Alice kept a way eye out, and Charlie too, from the porch.

Pulling her aside, before they left, he'd told Alice, and out of Bella's earshot, "I don't think he will, but call 911 if he does show up. Understood?"

Alice had nodded solemnly, "of course."

Once inside the car, Bella finally asked, "what happened? I thought you were just outside?"

"I was," Alice said. "Then there were three wolves surrounding me. I couldn't get to you." She sighed, "I'm so sorry Bella, I tried—I really tried. I couldn't get away, so I called Charlie."

"What did you tell him?"

"That you'd called me—and that I'd overheard a conversation with you and Jacob," she said, "you sounded upset. That part, at least, was true."

"I didn't have my phone on me," Bella said. "I thought I'd be safe, at home." The tears were falling again, the realization that she wasn't. Likely wouldn't ever be. Not with VIctoria, and now she wondered about Jacob.

"I don't think he'll come back, Bella," she said, watching her.

In the front hall, Alice caught a glimpse of Bella's hand and arm. "Hold up there," she said, stopping her from picking up her bag. I'll get that. You go get some ice," she added, lifting her chin towards her hand.

"It's fine," Bella said, looking at it.

"Bella," Alice said carefully, "You may think it's fine, but when Edward sees you next, he's going to blame me." She blinked her large, innocent looking eyes at Bella. "You don't want to get me in trouble, do you?"

This was answered with a huff. "Fine." She turned and headed back into the kitchen.

"I'll put your stuff in Edward's room," Alice said chipperly. When she returned, she took a look at her arm. "Better, now for stage two, a shower." Then she plugged her nose and wafted her hand in front of it. "You stink."

"And the compliments just keep coming. Sure, yep, get right on that," Bella mumbled, and took herself upstairs. She left a messy trail of clothing between the bed and the bathroom, out of protest, hoping the smell bothered Alice for a good long time. When she emerged, thoroughly scrubbed, because she'd had second thoughts of any smell Edward might notice, her clothes were gone. Rifling through her bag, Bella realized, with concern, and then frustration, that Alice hadn't packed any of her clothes. Inside were all new clothes.

She said several very bad words, and heard Alice laughing downstairs.

"I'm totally OK with you being naked, if you prefer that, Bella," she called up.

Bella seriously considered it after picking up the nightgown that Alice had provided. It was floor length, and sleeveless. She'd seen prom dresses that were more low key. Putting in on, she thought, at least it's stretchy. The fine jersey was a rich plum, soft, and comfortable, and the matching dressing gown kept off the chill of the house. It could have been so much worse, she told herself, envisioning silk, satin, lace...ugh.

As she reached the bottom of the stairs, Alice looked up from her book, "you know, I'm disappointed, I would have loved to have seen Edward's face when he caught me thinking of you in your birthday suit. Oh well, there's always next time."

"Thanks, Alice," Bella said, with a begrudging smidgen of good humour. "Sorry to disappoint."

Alice grinned at her, and said "whoever said reverse psychology didn't work was wroooong, and you're the proof."

Catching the book that Bella chucked at her, Alice hopped up, "come on, I think I'm responsible for pointing you to the fridge, too."

Bella dutifully opened the fridge. On the middle shelf, perched between the milk, and the ketchup, sat a bowl of strawberries, a bottle of chardonnay, and a small container of...she squinted at the spidery writing on the label, chocolate ganache.

"You don't expect me to eat healthily, or anything, do you?" she called out to Alice, still eyeing her choices.

"Nope. Edward just said to make sure you eat."

Excellent.

Wine, strawberries, and chocolate it was.

Alice raised an eyebrow at the wine, but said nothing.

"So," Bella said, her mouth full of ganache and strawberry, "any other instructions from the control freak?"

Both eyebrows went up at that. "Still kinda angry, huh?"

"No shit, Alice. And they say you see the future."

"Mmm. I do. I also see you feeling really crappy later on, so maybe slow down on the wine."

Bella contemplated doing the very opposite, just to make a point, but was feeling, along with a pleasant floating feeling, her energy fade. She set the glass of wine aside, and poured herself a glass of water.

"So, are there?" she asked, dipping another strawberry in the ganache.

"Do you really want to know?" Alice asked, "all things considered?"

Bella decided she didn't, and that she didn't need to be a complete grouch with Alice. The day hadn't started well; it didn't need to end that way too.

"What would you like to do, Alice?" Bella said, softening her tone.

She looked up from her book, sensing the shift. "I have a list. Of options. It starts with hair and nails, and goes on the from there."

Bella squished her eyes shut. "OK," she said, "I've had half a glass of wine. I can take it." Returning before she could open them, Alice set a small suitcase—a suitcase—-of supplies on the living room coffee table, and then clapped her hands together with glee.

"Let's get started!"

* * *

Author's note: To make ganache, bring to low boil, one and a half cups of heavy cream, turn off the heat. In a large bowl, place 12 oz of good quality chocolate, and pour in the hot cream, and stir, until it is thoroughly melted, and mixed. Allow to chill to room temperature (several hours). Then, whip until aerated. Serve as a dip, or use as an icing. May be chilled, scooped with a melon baller, and then rolled in cocoa powder to make faux truffles.


	41. Good

Good

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

She was moving.

Wait—no, _Jacob_ was moving.

Oh.

 _Oh._

She could feel his lips at her neck, and his hands banded around her ribs. The heat was rolling off of him and over her. Between his raspy breaths, he whispered to her ear, "do you want to?"

She said nothing.

"Does it hurt?" he asked, moaning.

"Yes," she said.

He smiled, at her, and hissed, "good."

Then he made sure it did.

She woke with a startled gasp. Opening her eyes, she couldn't place herself immediately.

The voice that spoke to her made her start again, this time scuttling back from its source.

"It's OK Bella, it's just me."

Edward.

The me was Edward.

She was still focusing on breathing in and out normally, when her eyes adjusted to the low light of the room.

 _Edward._

She started to cry, not just tears, but great shaking sobs and breaths.

He turned on the lowest setting of the bedside lamp, and came to the other side of the bed, sitting beside her, but carefully not making contact. The worst of it over, she reached out her hand, and crawled into his lap, making herself as small as possible.

It helped to feel insignificant, as much as she could, to the comings and goings of the world. To be fortified against it by the arms of one you loved—it made it almost bearable.

The last of it passed through her, and she let her legs fall back, pressing her forehead to his chest, and her hands to his shoulders. Very slowly, so she could stop him if he needed to, he brought his hands to rest around her, letting the silence keep them.


	42. She said

She said

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

The second waking was an easier one. Edward's form was illuminated by the soft light of a cloudy day.

"Morning," he crooned gently. He was sitting beside her on the bed, legs crossed, hands in his lap. He knew better than to initiate contact when she'd just woken.

"Morning," she said back, sitting up, rubbing her eyes. "What time is it?"

"Almost nine," he said, quietly admiring the colour on her. It made the subtle hints of red in her hair stand out. So beautiful.

She crawled directly back into his lap, wrapping his arm around her.

"This," he said, "was definitely not the greeting I was expecting. Or deserve. Not that I'm complaining," he added, when she looked up at him. "I'm sorry," he said more quietly, "you were right. I should have told you."

She nodded, in no mood to argue.

"I heard," he said, "from Alice, what happened."

Bella wondered exactly how much he had heard. She hadn't talked with Alice about Jacob's confrontation, and the fear that Edward would hear what Jacob had said, slithered in her midsection.

Edward misinterpreted the shift in her heartbeat. "We'll make sure there are two of us there, at all times," he said. "I'm so sorry that happened. We just didn't expect them to swarm us. It's usually just one there."

Bella sat up, feeling suddenly very cold. "What do you mean, there's usually one there?"

"There's always a wolf there," he said. "I thought you knew."

Bella blinked, confused. _Still? Before they'd returned, yes, but...now? Why?_

"Is there still one there?" She asked.

He nodded.

"Why?" She asked, nervous for the answer.

"To protect you, Bella, and Charlie too."

She closed her eyes in relief.

"Did you think they had some other purpose?"

"I—don't know," she said, not sure how to express her formless fears.

He hugged her to him again. "You'll be safe. Truly. I don't want you to worry about it."

She nodded, but couldn't shake the anxiety.

"It's hard to be honest with you about this, Bella. I see how it eats you up." She could feel his nose, resting, cold, on her arm. It reminded her of a dog's nose, and the strange connection of the two things made her laugh. She wondered if she was anxious enough to be bordering on the edge of sanity. Having dangled over it, the boundary was much less clear now.

"I'm just not sure where I am, sometimes," she said, turning her head into his chest. "Mentally, that is."

"You're here," he answered her, "and you're always safe with me." He let that sink in, while he moved his head, whispered his lips back and forth in her hair. "Can I make you some breakfast, while Alice comes and plays dress up with you?" he smiled. She could feel his lips stretch over the top of her head.

She groaned, and he laughed. "You've got about three minutes before she descends. I think those minutes are so you can use the bathroom." With a quick peck on the cheek, he extracted himself from her hold, and went downstairs.

Bella threw the heavy covers away, and slid her feet onto the carpet, shivering. She went to slide the wrap back on, and doing so, caught sight of her hand. The swelling there was gone, but an angry hand-sized bruise was clearly visible on her forearm.

She knew it was temporary. Knew it would fade in a week or so, but looking at it, it felt like an indelible stain, a tattoo. She sat back down, staring at it, all purpose lost.

Alice was standing at the door, watching her, a great many confused emotions walking over her face. _This is not good_ , she was thinking, not liking the choices she saw Bella making. _Edward_ , she called out silently, _I'll make breakfast. You need to talk to Bella. Now._

Startled by his reappearance, Bella slung the wrap over her arm. He pulled it off, taking her hand and gently kissing it. "Why are you trying to hide this from me?"

Bella felt a wave of anguish slosh over her. _I'm not ready for this conversation._

"I need to use the bathroom," she said quietly, picking up her bag. She took longer than usual, taking extra care with brushing her teeth, her hair, and putting on the unfamiliar clothes Alice had left her with. Anything to delay the conversation Edward was waiting to have.

He hadn't moved, but he stood when he saw her, and held out his hand. "Alice made you breakfast," he said softly. Holding her hand, and walking her downstairs, he filled the space with talk of his time away. Bella had relaxed by the time she was done eating, and he wondered momentarily, if he should press her with it again.

 _Yes_ , Alice said, when he glanced at her. _You must_. He winced imperceptibly, seeing what she had glanced.

Carlisle had left for work, and Esme had gone outside. The others were noticeably absent, Bella realized, Alice having disappeared too.

"He hurt you," Edward said softly, "again," and he held her arm up with his flat palm, looking at it. "Is it painful?"

She shrugged, shaking her head.

"Why didn't you want me to see?" he asked.

She shook her head again. "You worry, too much, about me."

"I love you. Of course I worry about you when you hurt." He watched her carefully.

She blushed, and looked down.

 _She's ashamed_ , he thought, _but how to get her to talk about it?_

"Do you want to talk to Ann today?" _Best to be direct_ , he thought.

"No, not really. Why?" She looked at him this time.

"You were assaulted in your own home, Bella. By your rapist."

She flinched at the word.

"And Alice sees you making some disturbing choices."

She didn't ask what. She'd learned that there wasn't much point. He wouldn't tell her, and neither would Alice.

"He just came to talk," she mumbled.

Edward looked at her, across from him, and took her hand again. "Talking usually doesn't leave bruises," he said, meeting her eyes. "He really rattled you. Do you know why?"

 _Oh God. He knows_. She was blinking, trying to stop the hot wetness from spreading down her face.

She nodded.

"I think you'd feel better if you talked with someone about it," he said. His voice was very soft and gentle, and he swept his fingers over her hand, trying to reassure her. "Ann seems to have helped you," he observed. "Any of us would be happy to listen Bella. Me included. But I think you need to talk to someone."

She was trying very hard to keep the tears from escalating, to keep the feelings from taking over. To keep the words from coming out.

Her control was slipping. Rapidly.

"I love you, Bella," he said. "I'm not going anywhere."

 _Crap_. He would have to say that. Right now. _But was it true?_

Wasn't that the million dollar question?

Ann had pushed her on that point. Advocated loudly for her to tell Edward.

"If he isn't going to stay, Bella, then aren't you delaying the inevitable?"

That had been a difficult session.

This was off the charts bad.

She knew Ann was right. Daring to look at Edward, she made herself memorize his features, touched his face with her left hand, and took a deep breath.

"Jacob didn't rape me, Edward."

He looked at her calmly, his face quizzical. "And what makes you think that?"

She flushed in shame, and whispered the horrific answer. "I let him."

"What did you let him do?" he asked, still holding onto her hand.

 _What the hell? Did he want a blow by blow description?_

The blush rose to her eyebrows. "I let him have sex with me."

"The first time, or the second time?" His voice was still calm.

"The second time." She could barely raise her voice above a whisper. Her eyes studied the patterns in the tabletop.

"And?" he asked.

She looked up at him, and blinked. "What do you mean, 'and'?"

"So what if you did?"

The blush returned.

"Did you think that would matter to me, Bella?" He looked genuinely perplexed.

She nodded.

"Why?"

This was harder to answer. "You're—"

"A virgin?" he supplied.

She nodded. "And I'm not. I know that...matters, to you." The tears were brimming again.

Edward took both her hands and brought them to his mouth, where he kissed them. "You matter to me, Bella. That we're able to be together still makes my heart burst." He shrugged, "nothing else does."

Bella was having trouble breathing through the lump in her throat, but struggled to work out the words. "It doesn't matter that—"

"You're not a virgin? No."

It hurt, Bella realized, to hear those words aloud. _No, I suppose I'm not_ _,_ she thought.

"There is something that matters to me, though," he said, "that you haven't grasped. That you need to."

Bella, so minutely relieved, froze. _Oh_ , her mind thought, _of course, too good to be true._

He let go of her hands.

"How did you let Jacob know you wanted to have sex with him?"

She felt like he was playing emotional ping pong with her. She was the ball.

"What?"

"How did you let Jacob know you wanted to have sex with him?"

"I—" she stopped.

"Told him you wanted him to make love to you? Pulled him into your bed? Jumped on top of him, took his clothes off? Took your clothes off?" He raised his eyebrows at these suggestions. "Perhaps you used more crass terms than I have?"

The tears had returned, making Edward's face wobble in her vision.

 _Keep pushing_ , Edward thought, wanting to reach her, hold her, apologize, but knowing she needed to make the connection herself.

"Perhaps you'd like to talk about how you enjoyed it? Or how you pleasured each other? Or not, I'm not sure what kind of lovers werewolves make."

Still she said nothing, stunned.

"Well?" he asked. "What happened?"

She had gone from a disturbing palor, to another florid blush, as his words shoved at her.

"Those look like rather virginal blushes for someone who isn't a virgin."

"YOU LEFT!" She yelled.

 _Finally_ _,_ he thought, feeling his own relief.

 _Not yet_ , Alice called to him. _I still see it. Keep going._

"So?" he said, feeling the twist of his own words.

"You left," she said again. "What did it matter?" her voice broke.

"What do you mean, 'what did it matter'?" He kept his voice cold and detached.

"I saved you Edward, and then you left me. You _left_ me. With Jacob."

He watched her, waiting for her to make the last, and most important connection.

"I didn't want to. I just didn't care anymore. I let him." Her voice broke over the words. She looked down, the shame still there.

He let those words hang there, while she absorbed them.

"I didn't want to," she whispered.

"I know," he said, and reaching her, swept her up in his arms. Her hand still weak, she clung to him, until her face was hot, red, and wet.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, "I'm sorry. You wouldn't have believed me if I told you. You needed to understand it yourself."

She nodded, wiping at her face.

"He raped you, Bella, whether he understands it or not. You didn't want to. He violated your will."

She still couldn't speak, but nodded, understanding.

They stayed, wrapped together, for some time, Edward's reassurances finally taking root in belief.

"You're still a virgin, Bella. In my eyes."

She shook her head. "That's just stupid," she croaked.

"No," he said, most seriously. "It's not. Your virginity is something given, not taken." He watched her consider this. "Not that it's important to me, but clearly it is to you."

"That's not true," she said, blushing, "It's been very important to you."

"No," he said. "You're important to me. Yes, protecting your virtue matters to me. They're not the same thing."

She looked at him, trying to make sense of this distinction.

He could see her confusion, and kissing her again, he said, "I'm a soulless monster, Bella—no, I know you disagree, but I am. I've killed people," he stopped, watching her listen to these words again. It always amazed him that she didn't run from him. He was still waiting, on some level, for her to. "You are one of the most kind, beautiful, brave souls I know. Truly good. And I hear what people think. I see what they do. You are...amazing. That I should tarnish you in any way—no. I won't."

She didn't feel beautiful, or brave. She felt thoroughly broken, and cowardly. If she could stay curled up in his arms for the larger remainder of her natural life, she would.

"What can I do to convince you of this?" he asked.

She shook her head, uncertain, still content to simply be with him.

He was sliding away, though, pulling her arm off of him.

"No!" She said.

"Trust me?" he asked.

She squished her eyes closed against the desire to cling to him, nodding, and then opened them.

He was in front of her, on one knee.

Her eyes were wide open now. She was glad she was sitting.

"Bella Swann, will you do me the extraordinary honour of marrying me?"

* * *

Author's postscript: Cast your mind back to chapter 4 ("OK"). What Bella describes in this chapter is hinted at there. Wondering if anyone caught it.


	43. Questions

**Questions**

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Author's note: Beeping papers. No, they're not done yet. MrsLizzieWoods, you made my day with your review. No, there's no update schedule - sorry. So far, it's been every other day or so that I post a chapter, or several. That's 55+K words in 23 days. I'm werkin' on it.

* * *

"Carlisle, I have a question."

 _And one that embarrasses you_ , he thought, seeing the flush creep up her cheeks. He was washing the instruments he'd just used, setting them aside to be sterilized. The room was crowded now, with large pieces of equipment, and Bella looked uneasy, and small, sitting amidst it all, in one of the chairs.

"Sure," he said, drying his hands, and sitting down across from her.

"When," she started, and blushed again, and stopped.

 _One of sex, menstruation, or post-operative concerns_ , were his guesses. _Perhaps all three._

"When Edward and I are together..."

 _We got to a whole phrase_ , Carlisle smiled to himself. _First guess was right._

The blush was colouring the tips of her ears. "Will it hurt?" she whispered.

Carlisle felt a pang of guilt at his internal levity.

"It shouldn't, no."

"I know it shouldn't," she said, still quiet. "But that's different from what might _actually_ happen."

He was resting his forearms on his knees. It made him look relaxed, and listening, which he knew, from many years of experience, made his patients feel at ease. He alternated between looking down, following her gaze, and taking careful glances at her face.

Her concerns were not without merit. He'd used the smallest speculum, opening it as little as he could to complete the six week check. She had been rigid, twitching at each touch, even with Edward beside her, holding her hand, whispering her through it.

"Did the exam hurt?" he asked softly. She hadn't said anything, but that was not unlike her.

"No," she said, shaking her head too quickly.

He pursed his lips. "It helps if you're forthcoming, Bella." It was kinder than calling out her lie.

"It...no. It didn't hurt. It just…" she sighed, "reminded me of—"

"The assault," he said, nodding. "That's not unusual. The body remembers, along with the mind."

"So," she said, and he could smell the tears beginning, "does that mean—does that mean that will happen, when—?"

"No," he said, as reassuringly as he could. "Not necessarily, but—and this is integral, you need to respect yourself, your body, and tell Edward," he said softly. "You can't…" he stopped, wondering how he could put this succinctly, but not impolitely, "try to spare his feelings."

She looked confused. _Lord, she doesn't see how she does it_ , he thought. He wished, fervently, that he could leave Ann this conversation. "You're not very open, Bella, when you're hurting, or uncomfortable. Especially when you think it might upset Edward."

Bella nodded, but reluctantly.

"So...things can be normal, for us?"

"Yes."

She was thinking, he could see, about her next question.

"Is there something wrong with me? Something different?" she asked

It was his turn to be confused, "how so?"

She blushed.

"Physiologically?" he suggested.

She nodded.

"Nothing, no, why?"

She shook her head.

"It's troubling you, clearly. Why, Bella?"

"I just...I just wondered why there was..damage. After. It wasn't... _violent_ ," she said, her voice uncertain.

 _Oh_ , thought Carlisle. _She has no idea how violent it was_. He felt a twinge of guilt for not having talked to her earlier, and then anger, for the twisted damage Jacob had done—with his words, and his body.

"Bella, what do you know about the pragmatics of sexual intercourse?"

How she could blush more, neither was certain.

After a few questions, Carlisle had ascertained what she knew. The basics.

He explained, in his soft voice, what had happened, and why.

She looked more at ease, but he could see more questions forming with the information he'd given her.

"OK," she sighed. "I have another question." The blush went to her hairline this time.

Carlisle marvelled at the many colours human blood could produce under the skin.

"Go ahead," he said, curious what else she wanted to know.

"Are vampires...I know you're different...are…" she couldn't finish the sentence.

He smiled gently, trying to be encouraging.

"Are vampires...bigger? Than human...men?"

Bella startled, hearing Emmett's howl of laughter, a full two floors away. Carlisle looked down, and grinned broadly, at the less audible smack, and resulting, "Oww!"

"No," he said softly, without humour. "We're the same anatomically."

She let a long breath out, nodding.

"Bella, is there anything else you're wondering about? Worrying about?" he asked, his forehead creased.

"Plenty," she said, "I'm just not sure you can help me with it."


	44. Grounded

Grounded

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

Jacob had been grounded.

Humiliatingly, explicitly, and publicly grounded.

"I said you could go talk to her—not rough her up!"

Sam had been livid. Positively enraged.

"You made a stupid decision Jacob. We all saw—and we all have to live with your dumbass mistake from that night. Stop digging yourself in deeper to that hole."

Jacob had stood, jaw clenched, his anger an effective shield against any reproach, guilt, or regret.

Sam was a coward. Pure and simple. They could take them, if they attacked. Easily. They had them outnumbered.

"You don't go near her—you don't try to talk to her, phone her, nothing. She's off limits."

He had kept it together, wanting to roar back at him, tell him to do the same with Emily. See how he liked it. Instead, he asked cooly, "And let them change her? Will we tolerate that, then?"

"If she chooses it, Jacob, yes. If it's what she wants, and she's like them, then yes. I'll keep the treaty."

He'd shivered, hearing the words. "And when she comes back and says she didn't? Says they made her? Then what?" The words were spat out between clenched teeth.

Sam had looked at him, the point well taken.

"If I raped her Sam, then why the second time? Rape victims don't hang around for more."

Sam recoiled at the words, at the unnecessary repetition of the intimacy they all shared. They tried, when they could, in their human forms, to spare each other open acknowledgement of it.

"I don't know Jacob, and you're not going to ask her again. When a woman cries rape, and has seven vampires on her side who believe her, you don't argue with it. You stay out of their way."

"Coward," he'd hissed at him.


	45. Just Try

**Just try**

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Author's notes: This came from a guest poster: "Ok this enough of the bull shit [sic]. It's aboit [sic] time that Bella wakes up to her damn lie. Rape is a very serious thing to accuse someone. And when it really happens to a person there is trauma. And a real victim they are never the same. So quit with the bullshit and make her own up to shit. This really isn't fair to the real people who have been raped. So enough and make this right with Jacob. I no [sic] this is fiction but again rape victim deserves better than this shit about the way you are writting [sic] this shit with Bella. Set it right"

I know. You're wondering why I'm including it here? Because I think it reflects what many think, and are perhaps too afraid to express. We need to talk about these ideas, because otherwise they cause harm. Truly, they do.

It's a long standing practise to divide, and conquer—to set apart by degrees, the wronged, and let them argue about who was, and who wasn't assaulted—about who was hurt more. Sometimes, this distinction is made by those who hurt them. Other times, it's made by other victims.

I wonder if this guest poster lives on either side of those lines. I hope not, because it's awful, and heartbreaking.

No one should hurt this way. No one should _be_ hurt this way.

That the people who say they love us, or who are entrusted by friendship, or authority, but hurt us so, is brutal.

Rape _is_ a serious accusation, one whose many shapes and forms have long been denied. Where I live (Canada), it was only in 1983 that the law recognized spousal rape (or rather, stopped denying it). "Date rape" was the byword of my teen years, when the judicial community also recognized that someone you knew could sexually assault you. I assure you, this was revolutionary in its thinking. And widely disputed.

Let's use an analogy. If Jacob were to tattoo Bella in the same circumstances, I doubt anyone would dispute the violation of her active consent, or her bodily integrity. Similarly, if he were to apply a second one, without any discussion.

#MeToo

Narrative note: This was the first chapter I wrote for this story. It's been a long time coming. It's a toughie. This story, in case you've somehow missed it, is rated M for a reason.

I hope you have someone to hug when you're done.

Love,

Maple

* * *

"Framing what happened, in words, can be a powerful thing," Ann said, hands folded neatly on her lap.

The angle of a rare piece of sun had caught the tops of her grey curls in the light. Floating above them were a swirl of dust motes, disturbed beautifully by each of Ann's small movements. They were mesmerizing.

Ann waited, watching the focus of Bella's eyes grow distant.

"You with me, Bella?" She asked gently.

Bella liked her questions. Their intonations were soft at the end, undemanding. Almost optional.

"Yeah," she said, dropping her eyes away from the beauty of the cloud.

"Giving words to what happened gives you control," Ann said, paraphrasing herself.

"Sure," Bella said, noticing that Ann was persistent with this thesis.

"You're not convinced."

She shook her head.

"Do you think there's anything to lose, in talking about it?"

"No," Bella said, still quiet, "it's just...difficult." She fingered the soft, cotton fringe of the pillow beside her.

"Have you told Edward what happened, yet?"

She shook her head.

"And you're getting married?"

"Yes," Bella said quietly. She'd shared this with Ann, but no one else.

"But you don't want to talk about the rape?" Bella squirmed in her chair. "With the man you're going to marry?" Bella said nothing, but looked down again, still fussing with the threads of the pillow fringe.

"What are you afraid is going to happen, if you tell him?"

 _That he'll kill Jacob, Bella thought. And start a war. Or be so horrified, and terrified of hurting me that he won't touch me until I'm changed._

Bella cleared her throat. "I'm afraid he'll try to hurt Jacob. And that he'll be afraid to touch me."

"You can't control what other people do, Bella."

"No," she said, "but I can control what I tell him."

"Do you really not trust him to listen to you? Not honour your request that there be no violence? Not trust you to be with him sexually? Or, are you sparing his feelings?"

 _I don't want to see him suffer, when he doesn't need to, no,_ thought Bella.

"You're very...accomodating, Bella. To a very great fault. I think you want to protect him."

Bella did not dispute this.

"And I think you're going to damage your relationship, or possibly destroy it, if you don't learn to tell the hard truths."

Bella looked up at this, horrified.

This was exactly what she had told Edward.

"It's a failing in many relationships, Bella. And it's usually fatal."

Bella swallowed, nodding. "It's something…we both do."

"If you want your relationship to last, you need to be honest with each other."

She had driven straight from Ann's to Edward's, fortified against her fear by the fear of losing him. _He'll listen,_ she told herself. _And he won't leave_ _._ It was her mantra as she drove.

"We need to talk," she'd said abruptly, making him look at her, wary. "I mean, it's nothing, bad, sorry," she sighed, "I just saw Ann. I need to tell you something. Before I chicken out," she finished, feeling more and more uneasy.

"Let's go upstairs," he said, wrapping his arms around her, kissing her, before he picked her up.

He had set her down on the couch, keeping her in his arms still, her back to his front.

He'd known she would tell him at some point. He was grateful it was sooner, rather than later.

She'd told Ann, haltingly, in one of their earlier sessions, the rudiments of what had happened. Made sense of what she'd experienced. It was harder, now, the second time. Edward's arms around her encouraged the start, but she had to move away, face him—or rather, face her body to him, eyes down, her hands fiddling in the loose arms of her sweater.

She didn't want to be touched, not while she told him. The twist of fear persisted, and her voice shook over the words.

The memory had been blurred for so long, but some parts were clear now.

They'd been sitting beside each other, on the couch. Jacob had put her clothes in the wash, and she was wearing a mass of grey fabric—his shorts, a t-shirt, both so large as to have to be held in place.

"So," Jacob started awkwardly, sitting beside her, trying to warm her up, "tell me again why you jumped?" he asked.

She'd looked up at him, but didn't answer, flicking her eyes away.

"It's OK," he'd said softly. "You can tell me anything, Bella. I won't go anywhere."

She didn't have the luxury of an easy trust, even with Jacob.

"I don't think you did it just for the thrill of it. And I'd like to hear you tell me why," he'd said quietly, before I think worse, he added silently.

"I," she'd started, "sometimes," and huffed out a loud breath, which lead to a coughing fit. She could taste the salt, still, she sputtered.

He patted her back, and waited until she recovered.

"Sometimes…" he prompted, gesturing for her to continue.

"It's easier to feel the nothingness, than feel the alternative," she'd finally said.

"You jumped to—" he started, alarmed.

"No," she shook her head, "I didn't jump to kill myself, Jake," she half laughed. "It's just, sometimes I feel like I already am...dead." She swallowed before continuing. "When I do stuff, like that—when we ride our bikes together, when I—take risks, it's better."

She said this so quietly, he had to strain to hear her. It dawned on him that she felt ashamed of it.

"That's not a bad thing, Bella. That's good."

"How, exactly, is it good?" she asked, trying to understand his response.

"That you want to be better, to live?"

"That I use you."

"You don't," he said dismissively, and more emphatically, "We're friends." His voice trembled over the word. Friends. He wanted, so very much, for it to be something else.

She looked at him again, sideways, and nodded, sighing deeply. They leaned in together, and sat, for a time, the temperature between them equalizing.

"So," he said, feeling the need to fill the space with more than the awkward silence there, "we have a new patrol game."

"Oh yeah," Bella said, grateful for the lighter topic. "And?"

"It's gross," he warned her.

"I can take it," she reassured him, grinning.

"Who's the best kisser," he said, with a triumphant smile.

"Aww, that is gross. On so many levels."

"I'm totally the better kisser. Completely."

"Jacob, you've never kissed anyone," Bella all but snorted.

"Practise makes perfect. I kiss the mirror every day."

Bella rolled her eyes.

"You don't believe me, huh?"

She raised her eyebrows, looking positively disparaging.

'Watch," he said, and puckered up his face, squished his eyes closed, doing his best imitation of a fish.

Bella couldn't hold the laugh in this time. And it felt good, the easing of the tenseness in her sides, the softening of the edges around the round misery that circled her innards.

"And I bet," he said, opening his eyes, and looking at her, "I can make an awesome hickey."

"No!" She squealed, still laughing, but he'd pinned her to the couch, his lips pressed to the base of her neck, sucking at her tender flesh, determined to leave his mark.

The laughter had stopped though, and a panicked grief had welled up inside of her, a desperate scrabbling thing, trying to get out. She moved her legs, and tried to dislodge him with her arms, but only managed to unseat herself, and they found themselves falling to the ground, her head landing with a sickening thwunk on the hardness of the floor.

Jacob didn't hear it.

He was lost in the salty brine of her neck, and the thudding, warm pulse that thrummed beneath his lips. His hands slid from beside her, to behind her back, one snaking up to twine itself in her hair.

The word had become a broken kaleidoscope: a single image splintered into an asymmetrical mystery she couldn't make sense of. Her flesh was slack, loose, unwilling to move at her bidding, and her hands couldn't seem to find their mark, to move him away.

"Try, Bella, please. Just give this a chance," he whispered, moving his lips up her neck, and finding her mouth.

Her hands, uncooperative and uncoordinated, wavered in the air, resting finally on his head.

"That's it," he breathed, and pressed the full weight of his lips to hers.

No, she went to say, but it was a long, low moan.

She felt like a fish, flapping awkwardly on land, the elegance of fins wasted on the hard floor.

No, she said again, her voice making a deep, throaty, oh.

Jacob's lips found hers again. "I love you," he said, his voice breaking over the syllables. She could taste the salt of his tears, and the confusion spread. One thought could not follow another, the simplest connections were lost in trying to understand what was happening.

She was cold, but she was hot too.

And hot in different places.

Moving.

No, she realised, _he_ was moving.

Unpleasant sensations were erupting in the disconnected corners of her mind. The words suddenly formed in her mind, and hurting was a realisation. Something was hurting.

She was hurting.

She was burning. _Inside._

Her own tears melded with his.

The pressure had moved. It was banded around her chest, a flaming grip that tightened as the world rocked back and forth in a distressingly painful rhythm.

The band broke, and a burning breath joined the other hurts inside. The heat was roving over her, hand and lip shaped, and the world shrunk to a pinprick of light, emptying to a blessed nothingness.

Edward had listened to her recount all of this, silent, only nodding when she paused.

Now he waited, long enough to assure himself that she was finished in her telling. "Is there more?" he asked, "that you want to tell me?"

She shook her head, awaiting his judgement. There was a solid lump in her throat.

"You're afraid," he said, watching her.

She nodded.

"How can I reassure you?" he asked, wanting to hold her, kiss her, tell her how brave she was, extol her virtues until she believed them.

She curled back into him, whispering, "don't leave me."

"Never," he said. "Never again."

* * *

Post-script from Maple: there have been some interesting comments on this chapter pertaining to consent. I thought I'd include the FRIES acronym that my students are taught. Consent is:

 **Freely given**. Doing something sexual with someone is a decision that should be made without pressure, force, manipulation, or while drunk, high, or ill (like ahem when you're concussed) **Reversible**. Anyone can change their mind about what they want to do, at any time. Even if you've done it before or are in the middle of having sex. **Informed**. And honest in intention. **Enthusiastic**.  If someone isn't excited, or really into it, that's not consent. **Specific**. Saying yes to one thing doesn't mean they've said yes to others.


	46. Well Read

**Well read**

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

Edward had gone downstairs to help Esme with a finicky something in the kitchen. Bella appreciated the kindness in the effort, but wondered at the work they put into feeding her. It was too much, at times.

She was sitting on the chaise, looking out at the trees, idly running a hand over the stack of books on the table. They were new—they had that smell to them, of fresh ink, and the acridity of the plastic that coated the shiny covers. She picked one up without looking at it, flipping it open.

It was illustrated.

Graphically.

Edward laughed from the door, and Bella startled, dropping the book.

"I wondered why your heart rate had gone up. I was worried, but," he picked up the book, smiling at her, "I see why now."

Bella's heart rate had gone up.

So had her skin tone—to a florid hot pink.

She had glanced over the titles.

"Research?" she asked, trying, without success, to keep a straight face.

"Yes," Edward said, putting _The Joy of Sex_ back on the top of the pile.

He slid in behind her, legs on either side of her, arms around her. He stopped, suddenly, picking up, and then handing the book back to her, holding it out until she took it.

Bella turned to face him, a thoroughly quizzical look on her face. "Why are you giving this back to me?"

"It occured to me that I'd just walked in on you looking at a book, and then taken away from you."

"It's OK," she said, "I had literally just picked it up, without knowing what it was."

"I could tell," he chuckled, "I just wanted to make sure I wasn't censuring your choices. It seemed a bit...high handed," he said, "after the fact."

She pushed back from him, and turned around so they could talk, letting his hands find hers. It was rare, she realized, that they didn't touch when they were together. She liked it.

"Books, huh?"

"They've been known to be a good source of information," he smiled. "Certainly worked for me before."

"Are they _actually_ for you?" she asked, feeling a squiggle of uncertainty.

"Who did you think they were for?" he asked, looking at her.

She blushed again, less so this time. "I wondered if...they were for me."

"They can be for both of us, Bella," he said gently. "But no, I bought them to read myself."

She remembered, with a prickling embarrassment, her ignorance on some salient points. Carlisle had been kind, but she would prefer not to have her future father-in-law—and here she twitched a bit, letting those words sink in—educate her any further.

"You're...surprised. That I bought them," he observed. "Why?"

She thought for a minute, trying to figure out how to phrase this. "Well," she said, "I guess, I figured you would know...a lot. Already."

"Why?" he asked. "Certainly not from first hand experience."

"No, but...well, you read minds."

"Ah," he said. "Yes, there's a lot I know that I would really prefer not to, but as for good, reliable information," and here he gestured to the books, "there's nothing like a well written book."

"Really?" Bella said, finding this hard to believe. "Sex is pretty...fundamental. I'd think you'd know a lot...second-hand, as it were, by now." She raised her eyebrows at him.

Edward chuckled. "Clearly, you've never heard peoples' thoughts."

She let her eyebrows stay up expectantly.

"Bella, people don't think about sex in a realistic, or informational way. They fantasize." He shook his head. "You wouldn't believe half—most—of what I've heard."

Bella considered this for a moment. She supposed that made sense. She looked at him, remembering the many times she had wondered—imagined—what being with him would be like. He was so otherwordly already, she had tried hard to tie her imaginings to the earth; tried to secure them to the gravity of logic. Who needed fantasy when you had someone like Edward? She admired again the perfect marble of his skin, letting her fingers brush his. She smiled, feeling them, "I suppose so."

"Mind you, I have no idea what you think." He had slipped his hands around her head, and brought their lips together. "But I would really love to know what you're thinking right now."

"Not," she breathed in, kissing him again, "a lot," and breathed out, "of thinking." She took a sharp breath in as he brought his lips to her neck. He was chuckling.

"Fair enough," he said, and pulled himself away.

"Oh, don't stop," she said, "I can go without thinking for a bit."

"Later," he said, "I think you should have dinner first, so you don't fall over from not thinking, and not eating."

She had tried to dig her fingers into his ribs to tickle him, but he darted away, and back, picking her up, and bringing her downstairs at a dizzying speed.

"Whoa," she said, feeling her head catch up with her body.

He timed this with another kiss, and Bella could hear Emmett's "WOOT!" from the other room.

Dinner was delicious. It rarely wasn't, when the Cullens cooked. Watching Esme, Bella felt a pang of envy at each seemingly easily acquired skill. It would take her hours to approach what they mastered in seconds.

In time, she told herself. Soon enough.

This idea sat less easily in her stomach, than dinner.

"What are you thinking?" he asked.

She didn't answer right away, pushing the food around on her plate. "I was wondering about, what it would be like...after."

Edward let out a breath, "not something you have to worry about anytime soon," he said softly.

Bella pursed her lips, but said nothing. They'd had this argument. Many times. He would change her—after they were married. When she was ready. Not before.

 _Control. Freak. An amazing, wonderful, loving, god-like creature, but still. A control freak._

He didn't press the conversation point.

The ride home was quiet, but not uncomfortably so.

"I meant what I said about the books," he said softly, as he opened the passenger side door.

She smiled, and blushed. "I can just imagine what Charlie would think of those."

Edward shook his head, smiling. "He doesn't go in your room, Bella. He respects your privacy."

"Or," she said, standing, and letting her hands slide under his jacket, "We could read them together. They could be...inspiring." She smiled, and then kissed him.

He laughed, and kissed her back. "You don't lack for inspiration," he said, this time letting the touch of their lips linger.

Tucked away into bed, Bella set aside her latest novel on the stack on her bedside table, contemplating turning off the light. A new addition to the pile, at the very bottom, caught her eye. She rolled her eyes. Edward had left a copy of The Joy of Sex there. Sighing, looking at the clock, Bella was certain Charlie would be in bed, Edward's usual arrival time.

 _Well then_ , she thought, smiling, _clearly he's left me some reading._

An unhappy notion slipped in along with this. _Perhaps he has...expectations? Or_...she stopped the negative segue of her thoughts. No, he left you a book, because you expressed an interest, she lectured herself. That's all.

 _And he's given me some privacy to read it in._

So, she did.

She woke up later, the book sliding off her chest, the light off. Edward's hand was sliding under her neck, fingers wriggling through her hair up her skull. His lips pressed into the dip of her clavicle, and she moaned into the pleasant warmth of it. "I'm so glad you liked it," Jacob's voice whispered.

It was Charlie's hands, and his voice that called her back into the present.

"Hey, hey, hey—you're awake. Bad dream. You're OK," he said, softly, but with insistence. "Stay with me Bella." This was said with more concern.

"Yeah, OK," she finally said, trying to breath normally.

He'd turned the lamp back on, and seeing she had calmed down, was picking up the fallen books she'd knocked onto the floor.

Stacking them back on the bedside table, he stopped when he reached _The Joy of Sex_. He paused, flushing slightly, and then resumed stacking.

Bella had paused likewise, and let out a small breath when he continued tidying without comment.

Her relief was short lived.

"Bella," he said, in the tone reserved for his most uncomfortable conversations. "You should probably be on the pill, or have access to condoms, or something."

Her face felt purple. She didn't want to think about what it looked like.

She cleared her throat. "I'm...yeah, Dad. No."

"That's reassuring," he said drily.

"What time is it?" she asked, wondering why they were talking about this now. Or at all.

"Midnight. Seriously. Birth control. We'll...go to the clinic tomorrow."

Bella cringed at the thought of arriving at the local health clinic. With her dad. To get birth control.

It was almost as bad as everyone at school still looking at her like she was pregnant.

"Dad...no. I don't need it."

"Sure," he said, looking at her, then at the stack of books, and back again, eyebrows raised.

She wondered if prolonged blushing could cause vascular damage.

"We're not...Edward's...old fashioned," she finished, lamely. _Oh God, why did he keep going with this conversation?_

"Great," he said, closing his eyes. "What's that, code for something I really don't want to know?" He rubbed his hands over his face.

"Dad," Bella finally gritted out, horrified that these words were leaving her mouth in his presence. "We're not having sex. Never have. He wants to wait...until we're married."

These last words were hurried from her lips, with the commensurate shame she felt they deserved.

Charlie looked horrified.

"Married?" he said, "You're getting _married_ _?_ "

"No!" she said, too quickly, realizing her mistake. Yes, yes you are, her thoughts reminded her.

The quick blanching of her cheeks was all the confirmation he needed.

He was sitting, but she could see his shoulders lump.

 _Oh God. Edward had promised. Promised he would be there for this conversation._

"I know," Charlie started, "you've been through a lot. And this seems like a good idea, but…"

"You don't think it is. Yeah, got it Dad." She shook her head, mortified, horrified, frustrated, angry that she had brought this on herself.

"No," he said, taking her hand. "I know you love him. I don't doubt that. I just...I would prefer you...wait."

"Yeah," she whispered, longing for the conversation to just end. "I think, maybe, it would be good to get some sleep."

He took the hint, and wished her goodnight, planting a rare kiss on the top of her head.

Edward was unsure of his welcome, and sat quietly on the window ledge, watching her cover her face with her hands.

He wasn't surprised when she picked one of the books up, and threw it at him.

* * *

Author's post-script: someone just said I had Meyer-esque writing (swoon), but it wasn't a compliment - alas! So far as I can tell (because this commentator is allergic to punctuation), they don't like all the swoony bits in her original work. What ISN'T there to like about those parts?! Well, brace yourselves, there will be more swoony stuff in later chapters. Distinctly un-Meyer like too. Tart-like a lemon.


	47. Jerk(ob)

**Jerk(ob)**

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Author's note: BridieM gets the credit for the title - merci!

* * *

"Jacob," Leah called, running to catch up with him. "Wait up. I want to talk to you."

 _Great,_ he thought, rolling his eyes so she couldn't see. _Just great._

"What?" he asked, turning to face her, arms folded.

"It's about Bella."

"I'm listening." _Well, this should be interesting_ , he thought.

"You're being a jerk," she said, frowning at him

"Well, thanks. Glad we talked. Bye." He rolled his eyes so she could see it this time, and turned to go.

"Wait," she said, a hand on his shoulder.

"No thanks, Leah. I'm good," and he shook her off.

"Just, wait," she said. "You want to fix this, or what?"

He did. And he had few other options, so he turned, and listened.

She eyed him, still frowning, tossing her head to throw the hair out of her face. "You know what happened with Sam, and me, and Emily, right?"

 _Fuck. Me._ Jacob thought.

But he looked at her face, the well worn frown lines etched in beside her lips. He wondered if he would start looking like that too.

"Sure," he answered.

"You know how you hurt Bella?"

 _God, the woman doesn't pull punches, does she?_

"Yes," he said, trying not to clench his teeth.

"You know how Sam hurt me?"

"Yes," he said again, wondering what she was getting at.

"He didn't mean to."

"Yes, we know that." He was getting impatient.

"Did you mean to hurt Bella?"

"Of course not!"

"Did Sam hurt me, Jacob?" Her voice bore an edge of vulnerability.

"Yes," he said more quietly.

"But he didn't mean to."

 _Oh._

"Do you know what makes it hurt less?"

Jacob was feeling unusually wordless, so he shook his head.

"Nothing."

Jacob stared at her.

"Know what makes it bearable?"

He swallowed.

"That he apologises whenever he sees me hurting. Acknowledges it was wrong."

His head moved slowly as he nodded.

"You got it?" she asked, eyebrows raised expectantly, her mouth a colourless line.

"Yeah." It came out as a rasp.

"Good. Don't be a jerk."

Then she left.


	48. Boy talk

**Boy Talk**

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Author's note: Your comments hearten me, encourage me, and then sometimes, they just crack me up. One commenter, Exguest, said my writing was like "a cake i like but with nuts im alergic to," because I had too many smoochy swoony bits in one of the previous chapters. Sorry, I like those parts.

Well, if we're talking about allergies, Exguest, I think we need to talk about your allergy to punctuation. And capitalization. This English teacher is breaking out in hives ;-)

Thanks for reading everyone, and a blessed advent.

~ Maple

* * *

It was a necessary thing, to eat, Edward mused, but he didn't like it. Didn't like being away from Bella.

She assured him she was fine. Told him to go. Grew anxious for him when his eyes grew black—not because it endangered her, oh no, never that, he snorted, but because she didn't want him to suffer.

And suffer, she did. He knew. Hid it remarkably well, but the faint wobble of her final syllables told him more than any of her other, loud body language, or the feigned exasperation she had learned to make.

He sighed, knowing he should make the best of it. The women had elected to stay home, and he, his brothers, and Carlisle hunted together. They would trade places tomorrow.

He could hear Emmet ask, "Jasper, is he still sulking?"

"Yep," came the quick reply.

He sighed. He supposed he should try harder to enjoy this. It was a chore though, being apart from her. He knew, in time, it would grow easier. Certainly when she was changed.

In time.

"She'll be fine, Edward—come on!" Emmett called.

Edward couldn't move himself yet. He was still stuck in his thoughts, trying to make peace with the decisions they'd made of late.

That he would—that _they_ would try..

He still shuddered, thinking of it.

"OK," Emmett called, approaching, "This is clearly more than normal Edward mooning. What's up?"

Emmett was the last person he _wanted_ to talk to, but, logically, he was probably the best person, all things considered.

Except, he was Emmett. And he had all the sensitivity of a bulldog.

"Come on, 'fess up."

Edward gave him a withering look.

"Not all of us are mind readers. Talking helps."

He supposed, if he expected Bella to talk about it, he should too.

"I told Bella we could try having sex, before she's changed."

Emmett stared at him. "Seriously?"

Edward nodded.

Emmett blew out a large breath. He'd known that sex was on the table, but he never thought...no, not _before_. "Wow. That's, uh...complicated," he said, marveling at just how understated that was.

"In so many ways." Edward looked at him, standing, both watching the subtle shifts in the forest's blackness. "Any advice?"

"Tonnes," Emmett said. "For starters, don't," he snorted.

Edward chuckled. "I think I'm bound to at least...try."

Emmett became serious, and quiet. "It's soon," he said. "Really soon. I mean," he sighed, "it took a long time. With Rose. I just think...it's a lot of pressure. For both of you."

"I know," Edward said. "I think, in some ways, that's the easier problem. I just don't know...I've never had this experience. I don't want to hurt her. And I could. So easily."

"Mmm," Emmett said. "It's...intense. Less so than hunting. But close." He shook his head. "I don't have any advice for you there, but…" he looked at Edward. "I think you're wrong." He waited, to make sure he was listening. "It isn't the bigger problem."

Edward turned to face him, hearing in his thoughts the concern Emmett was mentally expounding on.

"You think she doesn't trust me?" Edward looked horrified.

"No—and you deserve feeling shitty for rooting around in my head, instead of listening to me. So listen. Of course she thinks she trusts you, but think about it. You left her. Sure, you came back, but then you left her again."

Edward winced as Emmett rumbled over his track record.

"She loves you. Anyone can see that. It's meant to be, yes, but...whether she admits or not, she's terrified you're going to hurt her again. And with good cause. You left her, and then her best friend raped her. How can she not have trust issues?"

Edward couldn't deny it, but he did wonder how he might practically address it.

"So," he said, trying to breath evenly, reminding himself that Emmett meant well, "any advice?"

"Sure," Emmett said. "Give it time. Don't rush it. Don't let her rush it."

Edward laughed. "Delay Bella? You've met her, right?"

"You asked," Emmett shrugged.

The wind shifted, and the scent of game came to them, fresh, and pungent.

"Alright. I'm hungry. You coming?"

"Sure," Edward said. "Sooner we're done, the sooner we can be home."

Emmett shook his head.

"Oh, don't you judge me. You and Rose were insufferable in the early days."

"Sure," Emmett said, sprinting ahead, "but now you're the annoying new couple—and I'm going to enjoy the high ground while I can!"

Their conversation over, they descended into the wordless space of the hunt, and the concealment of the night.


	49. Girl Talk

**Girl Talk**

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Author's note: 1. Rose freaks me out. Here she is in all her freaky glory. 2. exGuest - challenge accepted. I just put up the story "No need for explanations." Enjoy!

* * *

"Are you awake?" Rose's voice was quiet, coming from the partially open door.

"Yeah," Bella said, sitting up. She'd been on the edge of sleep, mulling over the day's classes, and the weekend's possibilities. Rose was an unexpected surprise.

"I was hoping to talk with you," she said, coming and sitting on the edge of the bed.

"Sure," Bella answered, uncertain, but making space for her.

"I think Edward's told you my story."

Bella nodded warily, "he has," she said, the words coming out slowly.

"Then you know I have a unique perspective...on our shared experience."

Bella swallowed. She nodded, waiting. She wasn't sure she wanted to hear more.

"You know what happened to my attackers?" she asked.

Bella moved her head affirmatively again, remembering what Edward had told her, with a shiver.

Rose looked at her carefully, gauging her mood, before offering more. "It was...empowering," she said softly, "to kill them."

Sitting quietly, her legs folded, Bella said nothing, but looked down at her hands, nodding in acknowledgement.

Rose reached out her hand, putting it on top of Bella's. "Are you still afraid of him?"

"Of Jacob?" she asked.

Rose nodded.

"No," Bella shook her head. "I don't think he would try to hurt me."

"But you're afraid that Edward will."

Bella stiffened.

"And you're afraid when he touches you." They were truthful, but hard words to hear. "Jacob hurt you, so effectively that now you fear the man you love most."

Bella flushed with shame, and could feel an embarrassing set of hot tears wetting her cheeks.

"I'm not trying to make you feel bad, Bella, it's just...I understand. It's...horrendous. I know." She smiled apologetically, taking her hand back. "It helps...when you know they can't hurt you. Or anyone else," she said, watching her.

Bella wiped her cheeks with her sleeve.

"If it's what you want, Bella, we'll do it for you. We would all understand the desire."

Bella stopped mid-wipe, realizing what Rosalie was offering.

"No!" she said, horrified. "You'd start a war—you'd be killed, no—"

"We'd be fine," Rose said, waving her hand dismissively. "I think we can handle a pack of dogs."

"No," Bella said, more calmly this time. "I don't want that, Rose. No."

"Why not?" Rose looked at her shrewdly, trying to make sense of this.

Bella blew out a long breath she'd taken in. "Killing him won't make me feel better," she said. "At all." Glancing up at Rose's face, she caught the ugly incomprehension sitting on her face, and added, "he hurt me, I know, but ...he didn't mean to."

"He doesn't understand what he's done wrong, Bella." Rose gritted out.

"And killing him will definitely not make him understand any better," Bella pointed out. "But it would start a war, and I don't want that."

"I'm sure I can arrange for him to understand. I'm very persuasive with my hands."

The image of Rose, sitting so primly, hands folded neatly on her lap, was at odds with the violence Bella knew she could—had—she corrected herself—done with them.

Bella had never felt scared of Rosalie, but she did at that moment, and it took a fortifying breath in, and the knowledge that Alice and Esme would never let harm come to her, to produce her answer. "No, Rose, but thank you," she said.

"Hmph," was the disgruntled reply. "I won't press my point," she said. "But if you change your mind, nothing would please me more than to avenge you."

Bella gave a nervous "thank you," and Rose excused herself.

Curling up tightly under the duvet, Bella hoped that Edward would be home soon, and Rose gone, equally so.

Esme must have heard her thumping heart, because hers was the next knock at the door.

 _What was this, girl talk night?_

Esme didn't wait for an answer, but came and knelt by the bed, her words soft and soothing. "I heard, Bella, I'm sorry. You're upset."

Bella nodded, still curled up, not wanting to emerge.

"She won't do anything. No one will, unless you want us to."

"Thank you," was the whispered reply.

"We'll let you sleep, OK?"

Bella answered by tucking her nose down into the comforter, willing sleep to take her from her own thoughts. It came slowly, clawed at by the merciless drone of her mind, spinning its dark possibilities.


	50. Pleasures of the flesh

**Pleasures of the flesh**

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

"What do you mean?" Bella asked.

Ann tapped her clipboard with her pencil, twisting her mouth. "You don't think you are?" It was less a question, and more a statement.

Bella frowned. She shook her head.

"Whenever you use the word 'shouldn't' about yourself, it's with emphasis. Whenever you use it about Jacob, it's tentative, and quiet. You tell me."

"I...don't think I'm completely blameless," she said quietly. "I could have said no. I think he would have listened."

"Wouldn't, could've, should've. Hindsight is always perfect. Remind me again who has responsibility for checking in about consent?"

"Both parties," Bella muttered, feeling like a small child in school, corrected for a sloppy error.

"You're still assuming all the weight for that process."

Bella said nothing.

"Good communication is essential to any relationship, particularly around sex," Ann said this gently. "Have you and Edward talked about how your boundaries will change? Once you're married?"

Bella shook her head.

Ann made another note in her file.

"It sounds like you've both made some good steps though, educating yourselves."

Bella blushed, looking down.

"That's a _good_ thing, Bella."

She nodded, uncomfortable. She'd returned the book, and eschewed all of them since that one, disastrous night. Edward hadn't mentioned them again.

"There's something we haven't addressed, and I'd like to," Ann said, tentatively.

Bella looked up at her, uncertain of the introduction.

"Many women feel guilty after an assault, especially when their bodies experience pleasure during it."

Bella stared at her, body rigid.

"It's a common, physiological reaction. It doesn't mean it wasn't an assault."

She kept staring.

"And it can be very challenging to even acknowledge that it happened."

Bella was remembering. So many parts were fuzzy still, but not that. No.

It had hurt.

But Jacob had...tried...to make it...pleasurable.

And it had made it so much worse.

Ann pushed the tissue box closer to her with the rubber end of her pencil.

His efforts had been...crude, at best.

And ineffective.

"Can you tell me what you're thinking about, Bella?"

Bella considered letting Ann have her gut response. A healthy, and explicitly couched "NO," but held her tongue. She'd helped. Sometimes it was just harder help than she'd like.

She cleared her throat. "He...tried, to…" She blushed, wondering how to word this.

"Make it pleasurable?"

Bella nodded, grateful she didn't have to say it.

Ann paused, considering her next words. "Have you put any thought into how you could reclaim those physical sensations as your own?"

Bella's internal _huh?_ Must have shown on her face.

"Through your own touch?"

Oh.

Watching her become a florid scarlet, Ann smiled softly, "I know this can be uncomfortable to discuss Bella, but it's important."

 _Oh. My. God. You have no idea._

"Find a time, Bella, where you can be alone, when you don't have time constraints, or other pressures, responsibilities."

 _Like, a vampire trying to kill you? Or, a wolf sitting outside your door?—one that can hear everything—and is telepathically linked to your rapist? Or your fiance, and at least one of his other family members outside your house? Protecting you from the other, vengeful vampire? As in, never, ever, ever having privacy? Ever?_

It had taken Edward weeks to convince Bella that they would never address what came up in therapy, ever. Ever. That they would do their best to be out of earshot, and not listen.

Weeks.

Even then, she wondered when someone would say something. Her imaginary bubble of 'privacy' was just that—imaginary. She tried not to think about it.

She still felt like her world was a fragilely assembled puzzle, ready to disintegrate if the wrong piece was dislodged. Ann helped, but helped was the crucial word. She nudged things into better, but well, and normal were destinations in the distant, and sometimes foggy future—a future flanked by vampires and werewolves.

Bella shook her head, feeling her breathing come faster, as she contemplated the literal, physical dangers in front of her.

"Is it something I can get you to consider, even, Bella?"

Bella just kept shaking her head.

Ann gave a quiet, "alright," and made more notes.

Bella wanted to burn the folder.

"I know you're set on the date," she flicked her eyes up at Bella. "For the wedding." She paused. "Have you considered that you might not be ready, to be intimate with Edward?"

There was a tremble in Bella's hands. One of anger.

"No," she said, not elaborating.

"Not thought about it? Or, not willing to consider you might not be ready?"

"Both," she said, her voice steely.

It was enough, Bella thought, that she'd lost time, her studies, her normal life, to what Jacob had done. That Edward couldn't touch her, sometimes, without her flinching. To delay the wedding? Or, the wedding night?

No way.

"I've lost enough," she said. "You talk about gaining control again. I am. No, we're not delaying."

"I'm not suggesting you do," Ann said, but the worry was plain on her face. "I wonder what your expectations of yourself, of Edward, are."

 _Do I really need to spell out that I expect us to have sex? After we're married?_

"I think my expectations are fairly typical," she offered, instead.

"And do you feel that you can meet those?" Ann asked, probing gently, and persistently at this ugly wound.

Bella simply nodded.

"And if you don't?"

She couldn't bring herself to say anything that didn't sound angry, so she said nothing instead.

The silence was eloquent.

* * *

Author's note: We're fifty chapters in, and the end is coming in sight. Thank you for journeying with me people!


	51. Party, anyone?

**Party, anyone?**

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

"So," Alice said, looking up from her magazine, "I'm throwing a graduation party."

Amidst the exclamations at the table, Bella stopped, looked at Edward, and then at Alice, across from her. Alice smiled at her.

Then it dawned.

It was for _her._

She closed her eyes, and mumbled some very bad words quietly to herself.

"Isn't that awesome!" Angela squeaked "I mean, we've never been to your place—cool!"

"Yeah, great," Bella added, "a party," remembering, with a sickening feeling, the last party the Cullens had thrown.

Everyone stopped and looked at her, the flat tone of her voice in sharp contrast to the voices around her.

"Too cool for a party, hey Bella?" Mike asked, grinning.

She managed a placating smile. "No, just not much of one for parties. That's all." She could feel Edward's hand, squeezing hers under the table.

"I think you'll enjoy this one," Alice smiled coyly. "Trust me."

Bella elected to say nothing else, but pushed back her chair, and grabbed her bag, ostensibly to go to class. In the hall, when she was sure of their privacy, Bella pulled him into a quiet corner. "A party? Really?" She hissed the words at him, like it was a shameful secret.

" _I'm_ not planning a party," he said, still holding her hand. "I know better," and he smiled apologetically. "She really does see things working out well," he added. "It will be OK."

"Just like last time," she said through gritted teeth.

Things had not been exactly strained, but they hadn't been easy, the last few weeks. Between smoothing over the engagement news with Charlie, the stress of school, and the time away from Edward, Bella felt thinly stretched, and a party was the last thing she wanted to contend with.

Edward could hear, in the casual thoughts of those around him, the still vibrant rumours that Bella was pregnant. Her wardrobe choices did nothing to smother them, and he kept a protective ear open for anyone who had any ideas of asking her.

The girls were the worst. Their judgement was largely swift, and harsh. There were few exceptions. The morose fascination of the boys was tied to the sexual misinformation that they were usually awash in. He rarely left Bella alone at school, wanting to insulate her from their salacious thoughts, which he knew, were only a poorly chosen moment away from becoming equally indelicate words.

He could see one of their classmates eyeing Bella's midsection at that moment, wondering whose baby she was pregnant with, and if she would keep it. If Edward would leave her because of it.

He rarely reacted to the voices around him, but he smiled, and shook his head. _Ridiculous._

"Something I missed?" Bella asked.

He shook his head. "No. I love you," he whispered, leaning in close to her.

"Good," she said, not entirely happily, "I'm going to need all of it to survive Alice's party."

Looking around the hall, the signs that the school year was waning were everywhere. Colourful flyers advertised everything from class rings, to grad photos, to illicit parties—those would be taken down soon, but always appeared again, the culprits of the subterfuge as populous, and persistent as the mushrooms that dotted the shady corners of the school grounds. They grew back as soon as they were mowed down.

They had agreed that after graduation would be best, and its arrival made Bella's heart flutter. It felt...soon. She thought she was ready. But leaving Charlie—leaving her mom. Everyone. She wasn't sure.

Hearing her breathing rate increase, Edward leaned down. "You'll be fine," he said softly, "nothing bad is going to happen to you."

She nodded, not wanting to tell him what was really bothering him.

A new set of footsteps was approaching the door—substitute teacher—Edward realized. He could hear, in the woman's thoughts, the distinct relief of not having to do anything this period, because they'd been left with a movie to show.

Edward eyed the boy, who was still eyeing Bella.

"Want to skip school this afternoon?" he asked her softly.

She was stunned. He never encouraged her to miss school. She narrowed her eye at him. "Why? What's going on?"

"Substitute, and a movie." He grinned. "We have about ten seconds to make a clean getaway."

"Sure!" she said, and they walked quickly down the hall, and around a corner as the warning bell for class rang.

"Skippers!" Alice hissed with a smile, as she and Jasper walked past them, making their way dutifully to class.

Bella and Edward only grinned, ducking by the wood panelled doors of the auditorium, and out the school's front doors.

"Your place, or mine?" he asked, still grinning.

"What brought this on?" Bella pressed, still not sure why he was so keen to be away from school.

He looked at her, as they slipped into the car, waiting, considering his answer. "Do you really want to know?" he said, finally.

"Yes!" She answered, a hint of exasperation in her voice.

He sighed. "People still think you're pregnant. Sometimes they think about asking, or saying something they think is subtle, but usually isn't."

Bella grappled with the realization. "Someone was…"

"Yes," he said softly. "It wouldn't bother me if you were, but their morbid fascination with it is...irksome. I can't protect you from the idiocy of all the adolescents around you, but I can at least try." There was a bitter tinge to his voice.

She didn't say anything for a bit, leaning back against the seat, lost in thought.

"What are you thinking?" he asked, starting the car. He would head to her place. She could always tell him otherwise, if she wanted to go elsewhere.

She shook her head. "Just...about how it seems to follow me. That it's hard to get clear of."

"It will end, Bella. It will fade," he said softly.

"It doesn't seem to have, for Rose," she countered, looking at him sideways.

Edward's grip on the steering wheel tightened, as did his jaw.

"I heard," he said. "I'm sorry about that."

"No," she said, "it's fine, with Rose, I mean, it's just...it hasn't for her. I don't want to be like that in fifty years."

"Then don't be," he said. "She made her choice, Bella, to remember it. To sharpen that memory into this life." He paused, struggling to put the process into words, "we change, very little, as vampires, but when we do...it's permanent. Our human memories are fuzzy. Weak, for lack of a better word. We choose what we remember. Otherwise, they simply fade."

Bella was trying to make sense of this. "She chose those memories? Of all of them, those? _Why_?"

It was Edward's turn to shake his head. "It was different for her, Bella. She didn't choose this life. Wouldn't have. She wanted to die."

He remembered, keenly, her tortured thoughts as she'd transformed, and the ugly, growing desire for vengeance, that had blossomed with her fresh strength.

He continued. "Carlisle would never change someone who had a chance to live. And with Rose, she was dying, but...he shouldn't have. It was, I think, ultimately cruel."

Bella was trying to process this. "And you think that...do you think the same way about me?"

"No!" He said, with a force that ruffled her hair. He was staring at her. She wanted to tell him to look at the road, but she knew, with an unhappy certainty, that he didn't need to. The steering wheel squeaked under the pressure of his hands. "No," he said more softly. "I don't. But I think you need time."

Bella folded her arms over her chest, defensive against this familiar message.

"It's your choice, Bella," he said, his voice quiet again. "I just...you know what I think."

She said nothing, but nodded, arms still folded, grateful that they were almost home.

She didn't feel so good about skipping school anymore, and cast about for a change in conversation.

Pulling up into the driveway, Edward became still, then rigid.

When Bella went to open the door to the car, he caught her arm. "No," he said, "wait here."

He got out, and faster than she could make sense of, he was back, pulling her from the car.

"What is it?" she asked.

"Someone's been here," he said simply.

"Who?"

"A vampire—one I don't know, and a wolf, too."

Bella swallowed.

"This was on your front door," he said, and handed her an envelope, the loose bit of masking tape flapping in the breeze.

Edward was still tense, watching, his body curved carefully around hers.

The envelope read: _To Bella, from Jacob._


	52. Sorry

**Sorry**

* * *

"Do you want to open it?" Edward asked, still tense, still watching.

"Let's go inside," she said.

He nodded, his stride carefully matched to hers as they walked up the steps.

Her hands were shaking as she peeled back the envelope. The note was short: "I'm sorry. Please forgive me. Jacob"

The shaking grew, and she clenched her teeth together, the anger a red wall that almost clouded her vision. Her eyes felt like they were throbbing to her pulse.

She stomped towards the kitchen, and grabbed a black felt tip marker from the assortment of pens they kept on the windowsill. Setting the note down on the day's newspaper, she scrawled her own message back.

Edward's eyebrows were high on his forehead, seeing it. She pressed the marker so hard to the paper that the ink bled through to the newspaper below. The two word reply traced its ghostly letters onto the picture from The Times, of Seattle, under the caption "Nation's newest murder capital?" Bella's angry, and large 'F' lined up with the grainy grey of the space needle.

"Where's the wolf?" she growled.

"Bella—" he started.

"WHERE?" she yelled back, stuffing the note back into the envelope.

"Outside," he answered, unhelpfully.

"EDWARD, STOP PLAYING GAMES! WHERE?!"

He sighed, and jutted his chin in the direction they needed to go. She followed, and he turned, walking backwards, facing her as she bounded down the steps. "Bella, please listen, I—"

"Shut up, Edward," she growled, and tried to push past him through the treeline. He skipped backwards, his face a study in worry.

"Bella," he said, "It's—"

But it was too late.

She could see, now, what he was warning her of.

Jacob, in his large russet form, stood up from his seated position, facing them.

Her feet stopped moving, frozen, but only momentarily. Then, her anger safely unlocked, she threw the envelope at him. "STAY OUT OF MY LIFE JACOB!" It fluttered, most unsatisfactorily, to the ground, several yards in front of him. She wished she'd thought to fill it with rocks, so that it could at least smack him in the face.

Spinning around, she growled, "Make him leave, Edward. Now."

Edward looked at her, ascertaining her level of seriousness, and then at Jacob. "You heard her," he said quietly, watching the wolf. His body language made his intentions clear.

Jacob didn't make a sound, but turned, and loped away, heading west.

They had driven to his house, where the family was assembled, except for Alice and Jasper, who had disappeared from class to Bella's house—keeping watch, just in case the vampire visitor returned.

Carrying in a fern frond, Emmett had presented it to the others, who all shook their heads, not recognizing the scent.

They had eventually, and uneasily, accepted that it might have been a visitor, simply curious about the many vampire scents swirling around Bella, and her home.

Edward had reluctantly returned her in the early evening, assuring Bella there Jacob wasn't there, and no vampires either. He didn't mention that there was a wolf there. "We'll be just outside, at all times," he said, smoothing his fingers over her hands. "Nothing's going to happen to you. Or Charlie."

Her nod had been a reluctant one. Everything seemed so precarious. So uncertain.

"You need some distraction," he murmured, later, in her room, bringing his lips to her throat.

She smiled, at his idea of a distraction, but was too distracted to enjoy what he was offering. "Much as I appreciate the effort, I am too unsettled, even for that."

Edward pulled back, eyes crinkled with concern. "Do you want to go see Ann tomorrow?"

"No, I don't think discussing the vampire that's out to kill me will help any," she said, her smile grim over her clenched jaw.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, closing his eyes. "You will be safe. Please rest in my assurance. We aren't going to let anything happen to you."

She wanted to throw back, 'just like with James?' or 'or when you left, and Laurent almost killed me?' but stopped herself, knowing those words would offer a finality she could not undo. No, she took no sense of security from his words. She knew, better than most, where the best laid plans could go.

"Sure," she begrudged him. "If you say so."

* * *

Author's note: Thanks folks, for your kind words. Yes, I am still plugging away at this. Have much of the latter part of the story done, but struggling with the bridge between them. It's been a wordy journey at 65K words in just over a month :-)


	53. Mom Food

**Mom food**

Disclaimer:All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Author's note: Much of the end of this narrative is done, but I'm still struggling with the intervening bits. Here's something to keep you "fed" while I work on the more substantial part of this story. This is mostly pure fluff, but culinarily appreciative fluff. My kind of fluff. Enjoy.

* * *

Alice had clearly had Charlie wrapped around her little finger since forever, but Bella had underestimated Esme's capacity in this department.

"Wow," she whispered, looking at the 'leftovers' Esme had dropped off. The main course was an epicurean lasagne, which bubbled seductively in the pan that she had just pulled from the oven.

"Esme's something else," Charlie said, pulling the equally 'leftover' salad from the fridge. "What are these?" he asked, peering at the side of the tupperware.

"Artichoke hearts," she said, "and...I'm not sure," looking at the mix of other, finely diced items. Charlie had opened it by this point, "smells amazing, though," she said, sniffing appreciatively.

Settling down to the most gourmet meal their table had ever seen, Charlie further extolled Esme's virtues, and consumed her food with gusto.

Bella listened in semi-awed silence—by the words, and also by the food. It _was_ amazing.

Taking a stab at another piece of heaven-on-earth-lasagne, Bella decided to test the persuasive powers of Esme's cooking. "So, what did you guys talk about?" she asked.

She had a pretty good idea, already, from the quality of the food.

Charlie's expression darkened slightly.

 _Bingo_ , she thought. _I was right_.

He took another bite though, and the expression disappeared with an enthusiastic "mmmm."

Charlie had, since finding out they were engaged, offered the barest, most begrudging hospitality to Edward, possible, and Edward had endured it with a grace that put Charlie's hard-heartedness to shame.

Esme had clearly intervened in the hopes of softening Charlie up.

Watching him from across the table, he looked like a puddle of melted butter.

"So?" she asked, taking a bite of salad.

Charlie sighed, putting his fork down. "Well," he started, "she actually came to talk about you...two."

"Oh?" she said, innocently.

"They're worried about you two getting married so young." He looked at her, "which they're clearly not alone in," he grumbled.

Bella's eyebrows furrowed.

"But," he said, taking another bite, and closing his eyes momentarily, "we also talked about how we'd rather be there for you, than drive you away."

She felt a guilty stab at these words, and was surprised by the emotion that swept up her face.

Charlie simply looked at her, and then back at his food.

"She...cares a lot about you," he said softly. "Was concerned about this being too much, too soon. But.." he trailed off.

"What?" Bella asked, genuinely curious.

"I think," he said cautiously, "you can handle it."

She looked at him, closing her mouth when she realised it was open.

"Not that I think it's a good idea," he added hurriedly, "but you've always been so mature, for your age."

Bella continued to stare.

"Anyway," Charlie continued, "I think Esme felt better about things, after we talked." He picked up his fork again, appreciative sounds escaping him between bites.

Bella had a whole new level of respect of Esme.

They finished dinner, and when Charlie went to the fridge again, Bella wondered why. He couldn't possibly be hungry after the two heaping servings he'd had.

"She brought cherry cheesecake, too," he said, his voice soft and reverent.

And Bella's estimation, of Esme, was replete.

As were their appetites.


	54. Party on, dude

**Party on, dude**

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Author's note: You know how I mentioned I was struggling, in the last chapter? Well, it just all came together - boom. Kinda like having a baby. You think it's all going to hell, and that it will never end, and then, ta-da! You have a baby. This story is done and birthed. Enjoy!

* * *

Bella had gritted her teeth, and endured the party, smiling with what she thought was admirable pretense, until Edward told her that her teeth grinding was likely audible to more than just the vampires in the house.

She'd managed, just fine, until she caught sight of Alice, hands pressed to her head, growing impossibly paler than she already was, the lights flickering off of her.

Edward had grown still too, his hand restraining her move to go to Alice. "Just give her a minute," he said, his own face clear of any hue.

The Cullens had become absent party hosts shortly thereafter, and they convened, faces worried, in Carlisle's office.

"It's an army," Alice said, "and they're coming here."

"When?" Jasper asked, taking Alice's hand.

"Four days," she whispered.

"And how many?" he continued, still calm, and still projecting a calm into the room.

"Twenty?" she said, "No, wait, nineteen." Squinting her eyes closed, "Ugh...it's too hard to see. Newborns," she finished, with a sigh of exasperation. Bella could see that underneath the facade, was a wrinkle of worry.

Twenty, she thought, looking around the room. _They were all dead. All of them, and the town would be ravaged, too_. She sat down, suddenly more nauseated than before.

Just then, the doorbell rang.

All heads in the room, except Bella's whipped up, noses poised.

"Who invited the wolves?" Emmett said, his face wrinkled in distaste.

Alice cleared her throat. "Uh, me."

As one, the heads swiveled to her, Bella's included. If she felt ill before, now she wondered if she wouldn't be sick. "Who?" she whispered, not sure she could handle this.

"Um, Sam. And Quill, and Embry," she said quietly. "They're your...friends? Right?" she looked suddenly anxious.

Bella could only nod. "Yes," she whispered, "they were."

"I'll say you're not feeling well, need to go home," Alice said, clearly embarrassed as this massive faux pas—one she couldn't have anticipated.

"No," Edward said, putting a hand out to stop her. "I think Jasper's on to something."

"It was only a passing thought," Jasper said, shaking his head. "I don't think—"

Edward was rapidly moving his own back and forth, "No, I really do think you're onto something, and considering the level of animosity the wolves bear towards vampires, in general, I think it could work in our favour."

"Come on, Bella," Edward said, "can you go say hello, at least?" His eyes implored, and much as she wanted to slink away, she nodded.

"Why?" she asked, narrowing her eyes at him, but standing.

When he explained, she hissed at him, "No!" They could get hurt—badly. No! Not for me!"

Coaxing her to the door, Edward assured her that it would be fine for all of them. Her feet felt like lead, as she moved towards it. The greeting was awkward, at best, and if Sam looked uncomfortable, Quill and Embry were ready to jump out of their skins at the slightest provocation.

Carlisle's request put them strangely at ease. Bella was horrified by the enthusiastic yes they gave.

"Bella," Edward said calmly, again, "they won't. Trust me. This is what they do. Much as you would like to think they don't, their purpose is to kill vampires. I'd rather give them a target to move towards, than hone their anger towards us."

She couldn't argue with his logic, but the idea of them getting hurt for her, made her quail internally.

When they'd made arrangements to meet, later that night, Edward and Bella had argued, her vociferously to be there. "Otherwise there'll be fewer of you, in case…" her voice trailed off. She didn't want to think about a fight breaking out. Maybe she could help keep the peace, somehow.

"I don't want you near them," he said, just as determined.

"Well, you leave them near my house, Edward, so make up your mind. Either they're fine, or they're too dangerous to be around."

"Aww, come on," Emmett had said, "let her come watch. She can learn a few things for later." He'd waved his hand dismissively at Edward, who fumed at the interference.

"I can come with you, or try to find you on my own," she finally said, "your choice."

Edward had closed his eyes in exasperation, and finally resignation "Fine," he said, "but you stay back—from the fighting."

She'd nodded, not unhappy to keep her distance, but still wanting to watch. To make sure they were all...safe. That word, she knew, was an illusion she still needed to cling to, and cling she did, as they drove out to meet them.

Edward pulled her behind him, watching the wolves approach at the forest line.

"They're all here," he said softly.

"Whoa," Emmett said. "Ten of them?"

"Ten?" Bella asked. "Since—?"

"The pack's grown," Edward said.

They had moved close enough that Bella could see them now, and her sharp intake of breath caught Edward off guard.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"They're...wolves," she whispered.

"Of course," Edward said, looking at her. "What did you expect?"

She shook her head, realizing how stupid it would be to expect anything else.

"This is hard for them, Bella," Carlisle said softly, "I'm glad they've come at all. I didn't expect them to come in their human forms."

Bella acknowledged him with a nod. It was when her eyes adjusted to the moonlight, that she realised just what it meant, that they were all there.

Jacob was there too.

She knew, in her mind, that he wouldn't hurt her. Knew logically that he had never tried to hurt her, but she kept a tight grip on Edward's hand.

When her hand began to tremble, he turned and said, "that's it, I'm taking you home."

"No!" she said, her teeth gritted together. "You know you need to stay."

It didn't bother him that she was right, but it rankled that he really couldn't leave his family without a way to communicate.

It had, in some small way, made her feel better to watch them. She'd been nervous when each of the Cullens had stepped up to fight, and practise, showing the wolves what to do, but by the end, she could see what Jasper meant. Experience was key. The pit of terror in her gut still sat there heavily though, and she shuddered, each time the Cullens tackled one another.

When the wolves asked to smell them, Edward had stiffened momentarily. "Alright," he said, moving forward to join his family. Explaining the request, the Cullens spread out, and let the wolves approach, one by one.

Jacob moved by Edward last, and Bella could see his posture harden again, but couldn't catch what he said.

"Don't," was all Carlisle said sternly. "They've come, and they're helping."

Edward nodded, his face twisted into a grimace, backing away from the russet wolf.

When he finally reached Bella, she whispered, "what happened?"

He snorted, bitterly, "He made a snide comment, nothing worth your attention," he said.

"Can you maybe let me be the judge of that?" She put it lightly, but he took her meaning.

"Sorry," he said. "Do you really want to know?" His eyebrows were raised, his hand soft over hers.

"Yes," she decided, "I do."

He sighed. "He was wondering how you could stand our smell, when you'd so clearly preferred his."

She thought about her response to this for a moment, and came up with a hearty "Ass." She shook her head.

"That's my girl," Edward smiled, and pulling her to him, said "time to get you home."


	55. Twas the day before the day before

**Twas the day before the day before the battle**

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

"...and all the humans were tucked in their beds, with visions of good outcomes in their heads!" Edward said, in a sing-song voice, ducking the pillow Bella chucked at him.

He dodged back towards her before she could grab another one, pinning her arms gently, and kissing her. Her annoyed resistance disappeared instantly.

"That," she said, when he pulled away, "is playing dirty."

"Never said I'd play fair," he murmured, bringing his lips to that one particular spot on her neck...ah, yes, that made her go limp. Everytime.

"Terribly dirty," she murmured.

"Never gets old," he grinned.

She sighed, as he pulled them up.

"I'll be back as soon as I can."

Much as she wanted him to, Bella said "don't rush," smoothing out her hair, "I'm sure Alice and Esme and Rose have all sorts of plans to keep me entertained." Really, she wanted them to be at their peak, not hindered by anything she wanted. No, not with what they were going to do. For her.

"Bella," he chided her, "it will be fine, really," clearly not talking about the hunting.

She couldn't help it, feeling the prick of tears threatening. "You say that, but then you expect me to sit out, waiting, while you could possibly—" she couldn't finish the statement. It hurt too much to even give words to.

"With the wolves helping, there's nothing to worry about."

Her gut twisted as she thought the words, fought them. "Then," she said, swallowing, hating herself for allowing her weakness to ask this, "stay with me, during the battle."

He didn't say anything, but looked at her, confusion on his face. When he opened his mouth, it was to form a "But—"

"No," she said, firm. "You keep telling me it's so easy that one of you could sit out, so either it is, or you're lying to me. Which is it?"

He still wanted to object, opening his mouth again.

"We've proven, time and time again, that it's too dangerous for us to be apart. Look at what happened when you," and she faltered before she finished, "left me last time." Her voice cracked at the end of the sentence.

She could see him convulse, minutely, and felt the self-loathing snaking up her back.

"You're right," he said suddenly. "Of course. I'll stay with you. Just...let me go tell them. Why."

He slipped away, leaving her hands poised in the air, where he'd held them, shaking with what she'd just done.

What had she just done?

* * *

Bella had been social, as social as she could be, under the circumstances, but had finally eschewed their company, claiming she was tired, and ready for a book, and bed.

She was anything but, and sat, not able to focus on the text in front of her, eyes following the twitches in the blackness outside. The low light of the bedside lamp made the scrim of the trees just visible, and their oscillations in the wind ghostly.

Esme's knock was soft. She didn't wait for an answer, but carried in a cup, at an equally soft pace.

Her instincts seemed the most—human, of all the Cullens, and Bella felt a twinge of guilt, and appreciation, for her thoughtfulness.

"Oh, you didn't have to—" she started.

"It's OK," Esme mumbled, shaking her head, "it's pretty obvious how wound up you are."

Bella sighed with a smile, "yeah, I suppose I'm not fooling anyone, am I?"

"No, but we know your attempts to are well intentioned," Esme said in return, smiling knowingly. "Chamomile, I understand, can help," she said, lifting her chin towards the tea on the bedside table.

"Thanks," Bella said, picking it up, fingering the warmth of the cup.

"Things seem, better," Esme said, sitting beside her, "not, right now, but...in general," she said.

Bella nodded, sipping the tea. It wasn't a flavour she would choose, but if it helped, she could use it, she figured.

"Have you," Esme began, "told your mom, yet? About what happened?"

Bella's hand paused, cup tipping dangerously, midway between her lap and her mouth. She slowly put it back on the table.

It had begun to feel, somedays like 'it' had receded into the background of her life, a piece of history, not the ever present 'it' that shaded her days lighter, or darker, at whim.

This conversation was definitely dragging it back front and centre, like the conversations she had with Ann, now every two weeks, instead of one. She felt like someone had pulled her stomach out of, and plopped it on the counter to inspect.

It wasn't pretty.

And it was most definitely not comfortable.

"No," she said, controlling the modulation of her voice. "I haven't." She liked Esme, a lot. Found her filling a lot of the holes her own mother and father had left—that all parents left—in a way that complimented their love, not overriding, or judging it.

Esme nodded. Her eyes were sad, and the small smile she gave Bella only highlighted this. Bella could see her struggling with how to continue, without pushing—too much. "If it were me, Bella, I'd want to know."

 _OK, so maybe pushing a whole lot._

"But you're not," Bella said, "and I don't want her to know." It was hard to say, but true.

"Do you not want, this last time with her, to eat least be...honest?" she asked, tentatively.

 _And the low blows keep coming._

Her estimation of Esme was shifting. She might look soft, but she was hard as nails underneath it—figuratively, and literally.

Bella twisted her mouth and raised her eyebrows at this last statement. "Don't feel like you need to hold back your judgement there or anything, Esme."

She laughed, a good natured, soft chuckle, and tilted her head, looking at Bella. "Oh, I won't. Don't worry. And I won't push on this again. I just wanted to make sure it was said, while you still have..time."

These were the magic, and miserable words that Bella hadn't wanted to hear. Didn't really have the reserve to hear, not with any dignity, anyway.

"Oh sweetie, I'm sorry, I really didn't mean to upset you," Esme whispered, her hand brushing over Bella's hair.

Wiping her sleeve across her face, Bella felt more childlike than ever. "There isn't, Esme. There isn't any more time."

And there wasn't, really. It was days, not even weeks anymore. If they made it.

That felt like a big if these days.

Esme's hard "no," surprised Bella. She was shaking her head, looking at her sternly. "Absolutely not. You're not ready. It's not happening until you want it to happen."

"But the Volturi—"

She shook her head vigorously. "The Volturi are nowhere near us, and even if they were, they'd understand the need for you to choose a time that would allow for appropriate concealment." Looking directly at her, she said, "No, Bella. None of us had this choice, and we will make sure it is a choice for you. A true one."

It surprised Bella, but she supposed it shouldn't, that it wasn't just Edward who felt this way about her.

"Do...all of you feel this way, about it?" she asked.

Esme nodded. "Everyone, except, well, Emmett. But," she snorted, "Emmett is...Emmett," as if that explained it.

Bella took this in, thinking. It wouldn't hurt, she supposed, to wait.

"I meant what I said though, Bella. You should tell her. You won't get a chance later." Standing, she paused at the door, turning, "let her be your mother, while she still can. You need it, whether you think you do or not."


	56. Really Sorry

**Really sorry**

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Author's note: Oh people, this came to me, and I resisted it...for a long time. Clearly, it won.

* * *

When Jasper had casually mentioned that Bella's presence could prove a powerful distraction to the newborns, Edward had been furious. "No," he'd said, with a finality that brooked no argument, but when everyone, Bella included, had gotten behind the plan of leaving her scent there the day before, he couldn't find a successful argument against it.

Having Sam carry her up the mountain, to mask her scent trail, was a compromise he gritted his teeth through.

He had conceded that he couldn't leave her—she still felt stabs of guilt over asking—and was relieved when he could hear them by the tent site.

"Who's coming, tonight?" Edward asked, wary still, of Sam.

"Seth," he answered gruffly. "Need a place to park the kid while the fighting's on." He looked at Edward, trying, unsuccessfully, to keep his judgements about Edward's non-participation to himself.

Edward didn't react to Sam's thoughts, but nodded. "Thank you."

"Sure," Sam said, "he'll be here in a few hours."

Looking at the sky, Edward urged Bella inside the tent, feeling the temperature shifting.

"You gotta plan to keep her warm tonight?" Sam asked, bringing his eyes up to the skyline. _Not that it's any of my business_ , he thought, _but man, it's gonna be ugly up here._

Edward only nodded, turning to join Bella.

 _Fine, bloodsucker,_ Sam thought, and left.

It had been horrific. She'd soldiered through the first bouts of chills, huddled in her sleeping bag, but by midnight, her chattering teeth were a reassuring sound, compared to the disturbing silence her body had produced. Seth had howled, and whined, hearing it. Edward knew exactly how he felt.

"No," Edward had called out to him, "she still won't go." Bella's head shake had been tiny, but her frown was clear.

"Be fine," she managed, through clenched teeth.

Seth's "tch" was loud and derisive as he clambered into the tent.

Edward's "tch" was incredulous. "You have got to be kidding," he said, looking at the boy.

"Dude, she's freezing," Seth said, gesturing towards her.

Edward stood, a full head above Seth, his lips curled back over his teeth in warning.

Seth blithely ignored him. "Bella? Want me to warm you up?"

She looked at Seth, and Edward could see the hope in her eyes, but then she looked at him, and shook her head.

The guilt at his own selfishness struck him hard, and Edward blew out his breath, "Sorry," he said to them both. "Bella, you should let him. I don't know how much more you can take of this."

Her "OK" was quick, and Seth unzipped the sleeping bag, climbing in as fast as he could.

He gave a startled "argh!" when her hands made contact with her chest. "Oh my god—you're freezing! Literally!"

Bella said little after that, exhausted by the shivering of her body, and relieved by its rewarming. She slipped, soon, into sleep, and Edward sighed himself, grateful, and relieved, and resentful for the simple thing Seth could do, that he couldn't.

"Thank you," he said quietly, to him. "And no, you're completely wrong. About what it will be like, tomorrow."

"That's kinda creepy man, you being in my head." Seth said, not unkindly, but with a distinct edge.

"Sorry," Edward mumbled, "I...remember, well, what it was like to feel that way."

Seth's brow furrowed.

"No," Edward chuckled, "not about killing vampires, but yearning for battle, and glory, and all that nonsense."

Seth didn't say anything, but their conversation continued.

"When I was young, before I was turned," he clarified, and then "in 1901, and 1918." He smiled, listening to Seth's questions.

The smile faded though, at the next one. "No," he said quietly, "that isn't what I want. But she does, yes."

There was silence, after that, for a time. "If you're thinking that way, you should probably go to sleep," he said, feeling positively paternal. Seth didn't fight him on this, and soon Edward was alone in his thoughts, listening to the steady thump of two heartbeats at rest.

The morning brought an unwelcome visitor, in the form of Jacob Black.

Well warned by the storm of his thoughts, Edward met him as far from the tent as he could, while still remaining within Bella's earshot.

"You're not meant to be here," he said, challenging him.

"I just came to talk to her," Jacob said warily, keeping well back.

The tone of their voices woke Bella, and Edward could hear her shuffling out of the sleeping bag.

He narrowed his eyes at Jacob. "You could have at least let her sleep," he said.

Jacob rolled his eyes. "Sorry about your beauty sleep Bella," he called out.

She wasn't smiling when she emerged, but came to stand beside Edward, who took her hand.

Jacob raised his eyebrows at this. "Possessive, huh?", he said, looking at her.

"What do you want, Jacob?" she said, as evenly as the flutter in her stomach allowed her.

"Can we talk?" he asked, "privately?" And he looked unenthusiastically at Edward, and back.

"No," Edward answered, pulling Bella behind him.

"Nice," Jacob said, his arms folded, looking at Bella, now partially obscured, "I get to maybe go get maimed. Or killed, for you, but we don't get to talk—because of control freak here." He turned, half ready to leave.

"Edward," Bella said, her voice pained by the many emotions she as feeling. "Can you give us a minute?"

Edward froze, and then turned to face her. "He's manipulating you Bella."

"We can talk," she said, thinking of the wolves, of what they were about to do. "It will be fine."

"The last time you 'talked,' he left bruises," Edward said. "No."

"Do you trust me?" She asked, her gaze suddenly fierce. She was imagining horrific injuries, life-changing wounds. She could at least speak with Jacob. It couldn't hurt.

"Of course I do," he said, sighing, exasperated that she had to ask.

"Then trust me in this."

Edward looked down, their hands still linked, and breathed out. "If I'm far enough away to not hear you, or him, then I'm far enough away to not stop him from hurting you."

She shook her head. "He's not going to hurt me, Edward."

Edward made himself let go of her at this point, afraid his hands would speak for him. He paused before he said anything. Bella watched him, intently.

Finally, he spoke, his voice low and firm. "I'll be away enough to give you privacy, but if you make any sound of distress, I'll hear, and I will come back. I will not ask him any questions," he added darkly.

"No," she said, with just as much feeling, "you will ask _me_ the questions. And you will _trust_ me."

The words thumped up against his heart, and she could see his eyes twitch at them. "Alright," he sighed, "I trust you." Then he kissed her, folding his arms around her, holding her too tightly he knew for her comfort, but taking the embrace as a innoculation against his own mistrust. He broke off the hug, went to the tent, and returned, placing something in her hand. "Don't be afraid to use it," he said, and left.

Looking down at her hand, she saw a small, sheathed hunting knife.

Jacob snorted, shaking his head.

"Alright Jacob," she said quietly, "we're alone. Talk."

"I'm sorry, Bella."

"Yep, heard that one before Jacob." She startled as he took a step forward.

He stopped, keeping his hands carefully still by his sides. He swallowed, before he began again. "It...took me a long time to understand. It wasn't OK, and I am sorry for everything I put you through."

She said nothing, but nodded, listening.

"Bella?" His voice was raspy, trembling, and she looked up at him. "Are you still...set, on your choice, to be like him?"

She was able to speak clearly, "Yes."

He paused, nodding, accepting her answer, his jaw flexing. He took a deep breath in, and then let it out. "Then I really am sorry. So very sorry."

It was effortless, really, for him to reach her, in a violent swirl, take the knife, and pin her arms. "I have her," he called out. She could feel the flat edge of the blade pressed to her neck.

And Victoria was there, and another, young vampire—a boy, who looked familiar, somehow.

Her "NO!" was a terrified screech.

Edward appeared, almost instantly. He, Victoria, and Jacob made the points of an angry triangle.

"She only wants one of you, and I won't let it be Bella," Jacob said to Edward. His tone was angry, defensive, and apologetic, all emotions competing for prominence.

"He's right," Victoria cooed, "I'd really prefer you watch her die, but I'll take her misery, if I need to." She looked at both of them, at Bella tensed in Jacob's vice-like grip, and Edward crouched across from her, and said "but maybe you'd like a choice?"

A syncopated "NO!" ripped out of Bella, Jacob, and Edward.

Edward made the choice for them all, and lunged at Victoria, the collision of their bodies a cracking screech that ricocheted off the ice and rock.

Bella stood, riveted by Jacob's arms, watching the disordered surge of movement, tears of anger and betrayal clouding her vision.

"It'll be over soon," Jacob said. "I'm sorry, Bella." She could feel his breath in her hair. She felt like she was going to vomit.

"He'll kill you, or his family will," she growled, feeling the edge of the bite of the knife against her throat as she talked. "And I will cheer them on."

"I know," he whispered. "But you'll at least be alive." He squeezed her harder, and she found an outlet for her rage in his foot, the impact of her boot making a satisfying crunch as it landed.

He hissed in a breath, but held her steady still.

The movement stopped, and Edward stood, his arms pinned by the younger vampire, his head in Victoria's hands.

"Say goodbye," she whispered to him, watching Bella.

Bella couldn't talk. Could barely breath. Felt like her heart had already paused itself, completely. _No!_ her mind screamed, _Not him!_ She jammed her head forward, feeling the knife cut into her neck.

She heard the sharp intake of breath through the noses of all three vampires, and in that moment, that sliver of a second, saw Seth leap, his teeth landing perfectly around the neck of the boy. The sound of shrieking metal filled the space, and his dismembered head rolled neatly into the side of the tent.

Jacob had thrown the knife away, and had his hands at her neck and shoulder, trying to staunch the bleeding. It freed her hands to claw at his face blindly, trying to gouge into his eyes. He pushed her to the full length of his arms, leaving her inches short of her goal.

She felt Seth's approaching growl as a vibration in her bones.

She stopped, and feeling Jacob's hands fall away, sprinted away from the movement she could see.

Victoria had turned, and fled. Edward reached Bella, and pulled her behind him. He called out to her, "You won't get a chance like this again!"

Bella could hear him talking. His tone was cruel, she could tell, but she wasn't processing what he was saying. Her eyes were mesmerized by the swirl of fur beyond them, and the accompanying snapping of teeth. She shivered, frightened for Seth. Terrified when Victoria turned to face Edward again.

The world was not making sense again.

She knew things were happening, but the pieces were unhinging themselves from a reality she could parse. She backed up against the rock face, finding comfort in its sure coldness, and defined shapes.

She was still trying to make sense of the world, when she woke up. It was Edward's voice she heard, calling to her, and she was cold...so cold. There were other voices, too.

"...a lot of blood," was Carlisle's.

"No, we don't know," that was Jasper's, "they'll find him. Soon. He can't have long."

"Here," ah, Esme? Or Rose? Hard to tell. There was the sound of plastic and paper being ripped, and then something warm on top of her. Soft, too. A blanket.

She risked opening her eyes slightly. She could see the grain of a ceiling, and lights not on, and, presuming she was somewhere safe, closed them again.

"Everyone out." Definitely Carlisle's voice.

Someone was holding her hand. "He's just putting an IV in," Edward whispered, "you'll start to feel better soon."

She believed him, and let herself slip into the relief of their mutual safety.


	57. Bitten

**Bitten**

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

She blinked, looking around her. She was in bed—Edward's bed. The long shadows of the afternoon had fanned out from the trees, and the distant sparkle of sun on water filtered through the partially drawn shades of the windows.

"You're safe," were the first words he said. The second were, "I love you." It sounded broken, and desperate. He followed these with, "I'm so sorry, I should never have left you." She could feel the bedclothes move, as if he was gripping them with his hands.

Bella was trying to process all of this, still laying in the bed. She determined that sitting up would be better, and tried to move herself upright. She felt dizzy, but persisted, bracing herself with her arms. Her neck felt sore, and her shoulder too. She lifted her hand to her throat, not surprised by the bandages that she felt there.

"Careful, you need to let the wound alone for a while." He spoke softly, and took her hand in his.

He was anxiously awaiting her own first words. It was a relief when she finally spoke. "What happened?"

She almost didn't want to know.

"Is Seth—?"

"He'll...be OK," Edward said. "Carlisle's with him now."

She swallowed. He was hurt then. "And Victoria?" she whispered.

"Dead." His voice was flat. Emotionless.

"And Jacob?" it was barely a breath.

He closed his eyes. He so wanted to tell her he was gone, but he couldn't. "We don't know." His heart broke, watching her bravely nod, acknowledging his failure.

"How—? What happened?" She asked again.

"After I finished with Victoria, I went to help Seth. He was...struggling. I had Jacob, but Seth came between us, and Jacob got away."

"I'm sorry," she said, "if I hadn't, it wouldn't have—"

"No, Bella," he shook his head, "I never should have left you with him—"

"Stop," she said. "I made a mistake. A horrendous mistake. And you honoured my request, which was the right thing to do. We're OK."

She pulled his arms around her at that point, and he truncated the movement, slipping her onto his lap, wrapping her in his embrace. She shivered, remembering the one Jacob had held her in.

No, she told herself. No, he doesn't get to ruin hugs too. No way.

"Edward," Bella began.

"Mmm," he said, still intent on holding her, still awash in relief.

"How did Jacob and Victoria…?" She wasn't sure how to finish the question. The betrayal was too large to make sense of.

"Will you trust me, if I say you don't know want to know?" he asked. "Because you're not going to like the answer. At all."

She remembered the last time he'd said those words, in this very space, and considered her answer carefully.

"Yes," she said, "I need to know." Her voice was soft, a whisper really, but firm.

"Riley—the other vampire—he read Ann's case file."

She didn't react, beyond swallowing. "You heard," she said. "In his mind."

"Yes."

She winced, closing her eyes. "What...did you hear?"

He sighed, "vampires have perfect recall, Bella. I heard everything." He did not add how ugly it had been, hearing it sneered in the boy's thoughts. How he'd wondered what Jacob would do with Bella, if Victoria let her live.

"And, Jacob—?"

"Thought he was saving you, Bella. It was all he was thinking about. It's why I couldn't hear what else was coming."

"And he's still out there," her voice was rising, a hysterical edge creeping up the sides of it.

"I bit him, Bella."

This held a meaning to Edward that Bella did not grasp. "He'll be...he'll be a vampire!?" she asked, horrified.

"No," he shook his head, squeezing her in a hug. "Our venom is...poisonous, to werewolves, Bella. We don't think he'll have long."

"Doesn't Sam know where he is?"

He was still shaking his head. "Sam can't hear him. Neither can the others. They don't know why. They just can't." Seeing her look, "it wasn't the bite, it happened before. Seth couldn't hear him either, when he phased."

"Are you sure, that it's poisonous?" She asked, looking at him carefully.

He nodded, "the Quiletes didn't tell us, but I heard it, when we came the first time."

It was a strange mix of feelings, the relief, and anguish together. He would die. The lump in her throat surprised her. She hadn't expect it, this grief, for him.

"Bella?" Edward asked, feeling the shift in her body. "You're safe. He won't hurt you."

"No," she said, her voice suddenly hoarse, "it's not that. It's just...I'm sad," she said, genuinely shocked at the feeling. "I'm more angry than anything, but, I'm just...I guess, I'd hoped that someday, somehow, we could...I don't know." She shrugged, "it doesn't make any sense, I know," she offered, fiddling with her ring, frowning. She didn't remember putting it on. Edward must have. She'd left it at his house, worried she would lose it in the woods.

"Do you want us to find him?" he asked. "We will, if you want. So you know, for certain."

"No," she said, quickly. "I'm fine." His betrayal had been complete. She understood the twist of his reasoning, but it had severed any will to make things right.

It still hurt though, that he had betrayed her so.

She wondered at the mix of feelings stirring, wondered if this was what Rose had felt. Wondered if it hers would harden too, become something ugly, and vengeance seeking.

She hoped not.


	58. Dark

**Dark**

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

Edward had finally convinced Bella to call Ann. He'd dialed the number, and pressed the phone into her hand, putting the box of tissues within arm's reach, and then kissed her. "I'll be just outside," he whispered.

Bella had sniffed, and nodded, sitting amid a puddle of limp bedsheets.

It had been humiliating, conceding the need to phone her. She'd worked hard—very hard, to move past what had happened. Arriving on their first night, she'd been ecstatic to finally be able to be with Edward.

Her body, though, had other plans.

It had been a visceral, and violent reaction, each time.

"Bella, you're not ready. It's that simple. Stop pressuring yourself," Ann said.

This was almost exactly what Edward had said, except he had the twice uneasy task of invoking her demons, and then trying to banish them after the fact.

"Have you considered what this is doing to Edward?" she asked.

 _How haven't I?_ Thought Bella.

"Of course I have," she said, defensive.

"Not sexually," Ann said. "Emotionally."

Bella had found the two quite linked of late.

"You're not ready, and you're asking him to attempt something he knows will likely traumatize you, and then expecting him to comfort you after the fact. This is distressing to him."

Bella was regretting phoning. She was not feeling better about this. At all.

"Have you considered avoiding vaginal intercourse?"

"Ann, it's our honeymoon," Bella gritted out.

"And it sounds like it's going great," came the pert reply. "Bella, clearly, you're having difficulty with perspective. My directive—and I'm going to be very clear here, not advice, but order, is that you both go somewhere, and do something utterly unromantic, preferably in the presence of other people. You need a break from your expectations. Then, no sex. At all. No attempts, none at least for a four days. Doctor's orders."

Bella held the phone away from her ear, looking at it like the evil thing it was.

"AND I WANT TO TALK TO EDWARD TOO," Ann called out from the receiver.

Bella had other ideas around what she could do with the phone, but, sliding herself out of bed, she went outside, and wordlessly handed the phone to Edward, and walked away.

She took a long shower, and then, digging deep into the suitcase, found the one decent shirt Alice had packed—with sleeves, and a pair of capris.

Edward was leaning against the bedroom door when she emerged, looking sheepish. "I'm going to guess that didn't go as you expected," he said quietly.

"No," she said. "And apparently, we're heading to civilization today. Doctor's orders."

Edward smiled at that part. "Excellent. I'll take you to dinner."

He'd spent the better part of the day teaching her chess strategy, and when she started to yawn through the late afternoon, taken her back to bed, and insisted she sleep. It had been a relief to have her against him, her body soft and relaxed, after the fraught exchanges of the first few nights.

Dinner in the midst of others was a joyful relief, as well as a culinary adventure for Bella. After laughing, watching her try what he'd ordered—without telling her what it was, they'd wandered the night market, Edward entertaining her with a running commentary on people's reactions to them.

She hadn't believed him when he told her they saw her as radiant. As stunning.

"They do," he said, pausing to link his arms behind her back, and kiss her. "And there are about four different pickpockets who are wondering if they can make off with your purse while we're smooching." He tucked it under his arm as they brought their lips together. "Tough luck for them," he smiled.

Later, in bed, he'd grinned, "Oh no, Mrs. Cullen," he said, when she'd leaned over him, kissing him. "Doctor's orders."

Bella smiled back. "She said _nothing_ about kissing. Surely _that_ is still allowed?"

"Alright," he said, and then reversed their positions. "I like kissing," he said, letting his smile stretch up the sides of face, "after all, it's been quite satisfactory until this point in my life, with you."

"Satisfactory?" she laughed. "You make me sound like a...fast-food meal."

He flicked his eyes up at her, and grinned, waggling his eyebrows. "No plans of making you a _fast_ meal."

"Oh good," she said, still giggling.

The lace of the negligee parted like tissue paper, as Edward nuzzled at her breast.

Bella tensed.

"Oh no," he said lightly, "nothing like that. Just kissing." He could feel her muscles relax.

The kisses were moving further down the geography of her body, and he pulled the remnants of the lace off of her with his teeth. When he reached the jointure of her legs, she tensed again. "I wouldn't dream of disobeying Dr. Ann," he murmured, and then kissed her there, eliciting a sharp gasp—one most distinctly of pleasure—from Bella.

He looked at her, eyebrows raised inquiringly, taking in her nod.

It pleasured him, to please her so, to feel her hands clutching at his hair, to hear her gasp in surprise, shock, enjoyment, and then finally, release.

It pleased Bella less so that he wouldn't allow her to reciprocate.

"No," he said quickly, seeing her intentions.

"Why?" she asked, eyebrows furrowed.

"I don't want to hurt you—and no," he said, seeing her look, "I'm still not sure I can do...anything...like that, without hurting you."

He could only describe the resulting look on her face as a pout. He didn't laugh, wisely, but said, instead, "it pleases me to please you, Bella, I could do that forever."

She stopped him with her hands, when he moved to do so again, "you do understand, that I feel the same way?" she asked. "Right?"

"Honestly?" he asked, leaning back, "no. I can't imagine anyone feeling what I feel for you in the same measure. Even you, Bella. You're my air."

By the time the moon had reached its zenith, Edward had exhausted her, pleasurably, and he pleased himself with the sight of her, draped in the night's shadows, and a contented sleep.


	59. Waxing

**Waxing**

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Author's notes: More Bella and Edward smoochy stuff, ExGuest! I couldn't, despite valiant efforts, incorporate your excellent line. Sigh. The ones I wrote will just have to do!

* * *

Watching her sleep, Edward wrestled with his anger and frustration with Jacob Black. She looked peaceful, resting. Her breathing was even, her body relaxed. So unlike their first few nights.

Her hands had begun to shake when he'd laid her in the bed. He'd hovered over her briefly, and then casually rolled himself, and her onto their sides, moving his hips back enough so she wouldn't feel the extent of his arousal.

And he _was_ aroused.

"There are no expectations on my part," he'd whispered, kissing her. It had been the wrongest of all things to say.

"No, but there are on mine," she'd answered, and made her desires clear. He'd let her pull him back up over her. The kink in her knee, and the pressure of her hands showed him exactly what her expectations were.

He'd paused, still kissing her, waiting for the signs to continue, still feeling her tremble.

Nerves are normal, he told himself. For both of us.

When he'd let her direct the movement of his body, it became clear that it was much more than nerves she was dealing with.

She had become rigid when their hips met, and he'd stopped, but she'd whispered "It's OK."

He'd very much doubted that it was, and again waited for her to tell him with her hands, that it was.

Her steely determination had met consummate resistance in her flesh, and the sound that emanated from her throat made Edward stop, disentangling her hands.

"No," he said, "I'm hurting you."

She had been mortified when she'd burst into tears, curling up into a ball, trying to hide the shame of her defeat.

Edward had been equally horrified. He buried it, scooping her up into his arms, instead, whispering to her. Apologizing to her. It seemed to make things worse. She'd been so exhausted, she'd fallen asleep that way, and he'd breathed his own sigh of relief, being able to lay a blanket over her, and let her rest.

She hadn't pressed for anything the next day, not until the evening. He'd made her a caipirinha to drink, warning her it was strong. She'd sipped at it before, during, and after dinner, and he was surprised at the effect it had on her. He'd hoped it would relax her enough to loosen the tight grip of her expectations, but it had only entrenched them.

"You are drunk," he'd said flatly, when she'd climbed on top of him on the couch.

"I may be a bit tipsy, yes," she said, bringing her lips to his neck, "and I blame you. Completely." She'd giggled, and he'd laughed when she tried to tickle him—she couldn't, really, but the fluttering of her fingers, adamantly digging into his ribs, was a soft pleasure.

He'd reversed their positions, sliding a hand under her low back. It was harder, tonight to slow the reactions of his own body, and he knew she would feel him through the thin fabric of their clothing.

Rather than the tremble he was expecting, his reaction emboldened her. She pulled his shirt off, and he made her giggle as he undid the buttons of hers with his teeth.

"Show-off," she muttered.

She was more impressed with his finesse at removing the remainder of her clothing, and his, one handed.

Not wanting to be restrained by the narrowness of the couch, he'd carried her to the bed, and he felt her give a sigh of relief as he laid her down.

He'd resisted her pull this time, wanting to move on his own timeline—one that wasn't rushed. He'd let his hand rest on the curve of her hip, tracing the elegant lines of her hip bone. He held the focus of her lips on his, and allowed his hand to move to her inner thigh, resting there.

He'd taken her hand and placed it on the corresponding spot on his.

She'd started to shake.

 _Some humour then_ _,_ he thought. "It won't bite," he said lightly, and she'd breathed out a soft chuckle, blushing.

"Virginal blushes," he murmured, smiling, kissing her behind her ear.

She'd blanched at the words, and pulled away.

That was not the reaction he'd expected.

For Bella, the phrase had dredged up the ugliness of their conversation from months ago, and she felt the uneasy squirm of doubt. _Did he—was he making light of that? Was he saying—?_

"Bella?" He'd asked, reaching for her hand. "I said something that upset you. I'm sorry."

She shook her head, not disagreeing, but trying to dislodge her unease. "Do you—?" her throat closed up. She could barely form the words. "I'm not. Does it matter—?"

"No," he said, trying to draw her closer to him, but she held her other hand up, stopping him. "Bella, no. You are to me, and we've talked about this. Why do you refuse to believe me?"

"Because I'm not," she said. "It's that simple. Saying that I am is just stupid."

He'd paused, and then asked "Do you really think I'm stupid?"

"Of course not. Just that idea—it's...ridiculous."

"Bella," Edward said, pulling her to him. She didn't resist this time, but he could feel the unhappy limpness in her arms. "You've never made the choice to be with anyone."

She snorted, her derision clear.

"More virginal snorting," he said lightly.

She couldn't help but laugh, and his low rumble joined hers.

"Sorry, you're still in the virgin camp, along with me," he said, and kissed the top of her head. "But don't worry, we get to leave together. When we're ready."

He was relieved when she suggested they watch a movie, and he'd carried her back to the bed only so she could sleep.

Watching her now, he wondered what tomorrow would bring. It would have been four days, and he hoped she would have a more realistic understanding of what she was ready for.

She'd allowed the touch of his lips, but not his hands, and no other part of him.

He knew, from what she'd told him, the basic gist of what had happened with Jacob, but not the details, and he gritted his teeth, wondering what the mongrel had done that had left her afraid to feel her husband's hands.

He shook his head. It wouldn't do to think too much on Jacob Black. It made him keenly aware of the thirst at his throat, and the creeping blackness of his eyes. He would have to leave her, and soon, if they were to continue in the vein they had. Their activities were draining his reserves faster than he had expected, more so than he'd been warned.


	60. Full

**A Full Moon**

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Author's note: I don't think any Jacob fans will have persisted this far, but if you have. Wow. I hope we can still be friends after this.

* * *

She woke up with a start. She'd heard a sound that the island hadn't yet produced for her. Sitting up, she was surprised to find herself alone. The moon was full though, and high, and bright enough to illuminate the paper on the bedside table.

He'd gone to the mainland to hunt, and the note said he'd be back before she woke.

"You're late," she said, tapping the paper accusingly. Restless, and overwarm, she got up to use the bathroom, splashing her face, and drinking a glass of water. She supposed she should go back to bed, and try to sleep, but, knowing the days made no demands of her in terms of time, decided to wait, awake.

She settled herself into the long couch that faced the beachfront, picking up her book from the day before.

Bella didn't doubt the reality of the hot hand that gripped her shoulder from behind, but the voice was a ghost.

"I won't let him hurt you," Jacob whispered.

His other hand was over her mouth, as he knelt beside her.

He was shimmering. A dull, watery tremor that ran over his body, twitching his skin in places. His pupils were wide with the night, despite the light inside the house.

Bella had grown used to the heat of him before, but his touch was blistering now. It was the lesser of the reasons for her pulling away. The grip on her shoulder became painful, and a soft whimper escaped from behind his hand.

"I'm going to take you somewhere safe," Jacob said calmly, this accompanied by the convulsion of his body. The skin on his bare back rippled as he spoke.

Bella's body was mounting its defensive reactions, and she felt herself trying to put distance between them.

Seeing her resistance, he spoke again, still softly, "You're coming with me. How you come is up to you." His eyes had skirted to the artfully rolled twist of nautical rope, sitting under the glass of the coffee table. He raised his eyebrows meaningfully at her, and she nodded. "Let's go then," he cooed.

Casting about for any reason to delay, Bella asked, "Can I put some clothes on then, first?" She looked down at the nightgown she was wearing.

"Sure," he said. It would have sounded normal, if his jaw hadn't distended into a snout shape as he said it.

Her mind was racing, trying to make sense of what had happened to him. He certainly wasn't dead. Had the venom damaged him? In some way?

 _Clearly,_ her mind supplied, a distant, sardonic voice of reason. _Totally fucked him up._

She stood, turning to go to the bedroom, trying not to bolt as he followed.

He stopped when she closed the bathroom door, her clothes clutched to her chest. Stalling for time, she brushed her teeth, and slipped her shirt and shorts on slowly.

The door rattled with his fist. "Let's go."

Her mind was battling the denial that this could be happening. She'd spent so long convincing herself that he wasn't there, that the flashbacks weren't real, that it was hard to believe this was. His casual "Might want to pack your toothbrush," only added to the surreality of the situation.

She was shaking by the time she opened the door, not ready for the hard grip on her arm that tugged her forward.

Her resistance irked him, and she saw his back distend. "Should I get the rope?" His soft voice was at odds with the violence of his body, which kept morphing, shifting, sometimes subtly, but mostly grotesquely. She shivered, watching.

"No," she said, terrified by the thought of not being able to move away from him if he did phase.

His sudden and hard embrace was completely unexpected.

"Oh Bella, I've missed you so much," he said, his breath burning her scalp.

The absence of space between them meant she could feel exactly how he had missed her.

Her body was still shaking from the shock of his touch, when his next words made her go completely still. "You haven't been with him yet."

She didn't want to know how he could tell. Or if this was a product of his deluded mind.

"That's good," he said, almost to himself, "because he could kill you doing that."

The embrace became more constrictive, and it was becoming harder to breath. His chest was undulating underneath her.

He didn't move for a while after that, just holding her, the strangely coordinated angles her of his mind holding possibilities together.

He moved one hand to her hair, running his fingers through it, pulling tangles out—painfully—with determination.

The shake had returned again. Her nerves were surfacing, bubbling up underneath the fading adrenaline. She had been trying to think how she could delay him, make him wait, give Edward a chance to come back. How long though? Hours? Minutes?

She had no idea when he'd left. He would expect her to wake up in the early morning, so by seven, then? It was…? Her eyes scanned the space, trying to locate a clock. There were none. Her watch was on the bedside table. She looked outside, but it was full dark still, no sign of dawn. Hours then.

How could she delay him for hours?

Her mind supplied, most explicitly, how she could likely delay him for hours, and she fought back the urge to vomit.

If he took her away, Edward might never find her. And Jacob...God knew what he would do.

"How...how did you find us?" she asked, trying to stall him with conversation.

He laughed. "Easy," he said, "Leeches talk too. They were plenty happy to discuss where you were going with their 'cousins', after you left." His hands shifted, as he crooked his fingers around the word. They returned to sweeping her hair after.

"How did you get here?" It was intoned as a question, but barely, fear warping the lilt of it.

"Same way you did," he chuckled, "On a plane. And then a boat."

She wondered how he had managed, confined on an airplane, his body shifting, turning, growing out of itself.

His hands were kneading her back, a painful pawing and scraping that felt like the mark of claws. They swept lower, and Bella was horrified to feel the wetness of tears bleeding onto his chest.

"I won't let him hurt you," Jacob whispered. "It's OK."

She was fighting the urge to curl into herself, and retreat into the safe space within. She fought back, this time, with her words. "I'm not afraid of him, Jacob. He won't hurt me. But I'm afraid you will." Bella wriggled, trying to move back, away from him. She was surprised when his arms released her.

The morphing of his body was becoming more profound. "You're afraid...of me?" he said, his face contorting and acquiring new angles.

"Yes." She said. It was a shaky whisper.

He reached up and traced the scar at her neck with his finger tip. "You did that, Bella. Not me."

She swallowed.

"He's a monster, Bella. It's his fault you were there at all. His kind are evil. Pure and simple."

Bella had some salient comments about who was a monster, but she kept them to herself.

She backed away, moving in the direction of the kitchen. She wondered if she could make it to the knives. He matched her steady pace precisely.

"I would rather see you dead, than like him." This was spat at her, accompanied by a grotesque swelling of his head, which throbbed from one size to another.

Something snapped inside her. "Then do it," she said, calling his bluff. "Now."

He shook his head, chuckling. The twisting of his frame settled. "No, he hasn't bitten you. You're safe. But we should go."

"No," she said, and ran.

She'd almost made it to the door when he caught her, tackling her to the ground. She landed painfully on her forearms, the vibration numbing her arms, and knocking the breath out of her momentarily.

He picked her up by her midsection, throwing her over his shoulder, carrying her back to the couch. He dumped her on it, one hand pinning her flailing form, the other fishing for the rope.

She kicked at his side, trying to push him away, but the pressure of his hand held firm. His position shifted slightly, reaching, and his head came within range. She brought her foot to his face with the greatest force she could muster.

His head exploded into that of a wolf's, snapping back, and forth from its human counterpart, to that of his animal self. If it hadn't been terrifying, it would have been comical. It reminded the small, detached part of her mind of the production of A Midsummer Night's Dream she'd seen years before.

He turned his full attention to her, the rope smacked down with thump. He clamped her hands onto her thighs, holding them in place with his own, as he leaned between them, his torso over hers.

"I do not. Want. To. Hurt you." he said, his jaw tight. "I am taking you somewhere safe."

They were both breathing heavily, she from exertion, and panic, Jacob from anger.

"Stay still," he warned her, reaching for the rope.

When he twisted her hands behind her back, and tied them together, she couldn't hold off the throttle of the panic anymore. A startled sob escaped from her chest, and she tried to keep the rest back behind her teeth.

"It's OK," Jacob said, his voice soft again. Her wrists secure, he caressed her cheek. "You'll be OK."

She focused on breathing in, and out with her nose.

The touch to her face had unlocked something for Jacob. A memory, warped by the venom, dislodged itself, and he brought his lips to hers. To say it was a kiss, was a misnomer. His weight rested on her chest, shoving the breath out of her, and his teeth ground into hers. Compressed by the mass of both their bodies, her hands were squashed painfully behind her back.

Fresh tears clouded her vision.

 _No no no no no—_

And then, he was gone.

There was an answering crash, the smacking of a body into glass, and its subsequent tinkling shatter.

Edward.

A roaring, crystal "NO!" joined her internal one, and she scuttled up, and behind the couch, trying to wriggle her hands loose. The knot was secure though, and her movement only seemed to tighten it.

The noises had grown distance, and she stood, wobbling without the balance of her arms, then slipped and tripped her way to the door, trying to locate them. She struggled over the sand, her eyes poorly adjusted to the night.

The moonlight, though, clearly illuminated the swirling shapes of wolf, and vampire, their invisible dance an appalling and incomprehensible horror.

It was slowing though, and it stopped with the loud clench of teeth.

Edward's teeth.

This bite to the neck was certain, and fatal.

She stayed perfectly still, watching the wolf shape fall into its human form, limp. Unmoving.

Edward paused only momentarily, assuring himself of Jacob's death, and then turned to Bella.

Her body relaxed into itself, and she almost fell too, as he approached. His dexterous fingers made easy work of the knot, eyes skimming over her. "Did he hurt you?"

She shook her head. Pausing, he looked at the tremble in her hands, and picked her up, making a cradle of his arms. Inside, he set her down on the bed. She grabbed his hand when he tried to move away.

"I'm just getting the medical kit, that's all," he said softly. "You can see me from here." He pointed to the clear line of sight she had to the kitchen.

She let go reluctantly, and he returned with the promised supplies, and a large glass of juice. He could see the red of promised bruises on her arms and legs, and he knew she was cut, somewhere.

"I'm OK," she said, her trembling voice not as convincing as she was trying to make it. "Please, just—don't go anywhere, just hold me." The thought of him leaving, was terrifying. She knew, in her mind, that she was safe, but the fear still stuck inside her throat and gut, making her twitch at every twig snap the night produced.

He stayed, arms around her, carefully avoiding the cuts that were starting to ooze, and sting, along her back.

When the shaking grew, he presented the glass of juice. "Please," he asked, "I'm worried you're going into shock." She hadn't wanted it, or food, or water, but he kept asking, and finally, slipped onto his knees beside the bed, begging.

"I really don't want to throw this up all over you," she said, finally, eyeing the juice warily. Her voice still couldn't hold a word without shaking it.

"Vomit won't bother me. You going into shock will. Profoundly. Please," he said again.

She obliged, slowly.

Just as slowly, he began to ask what had happened.

The wave of terror, when he'd come back, hearing her, and then him, had almost immobilized him.

His smell was all over her, but he wasn't sure—wasn't sure he wanted to be sure, what had happened. He forced himself to ask anyway.

"Did he hurt you, in anyway beyond what I can see?" he said, looking at her.

She shook her head, and then realizing what he was really asking, gave a vehement "no!" She looked up at the ceiling, and then at him, "no," she said again. "He just…" she stopped.

"Tied you up and then violently assaulted you?" Edward finished. His voice was dark and bitter.

She nodded, uncertain of his state.

"I'm sorry," he said, "I should never have left you alone. This is all my fault."

She laughed. Hysterically. It snapped him out of his self-loathing, and he measured her heart and breathing. No, no true shock...just shock. Moving to touch her cheeks, he was caught off guard when she flinched back from him.

"Sorry," they both said, together.

"Did he—?" Edward asked.

"Yes," she breathed out. "Sorry, I'm fine, I just—"

"You're not fine," he finished. "And that's OK." He left his hand, palm up on the bed, for her to take, if she wanted. She did, and let her fingers move towards his slowly.

They sat, he listening to her body calm itself, and she trying to make sense of what had happened.

Edward could smell her cuts starting to coagulate and dry. He wanted to give her space, but they needed to be cleaned, and soon. "You're hurt, Bella," he said softly, after a few minutes. "Can I look at your back?

She nodded, new tears welling and falling, and then stopped. "No," she said, "I need to go see that he's really dead."

Edward thought, briefly, about trying to dissuade her, but stopped himself. "Of course." He slipped his arm around her waist, avoiding the worst of her back.

She stood, for what felt like a long time, over his body. The sky had begun to lighten, when she felt Edward's hand shift on her hip. She followed him wordlessly back into the house.

"Can I?" he asked, gesturing to her back.

Looking at his face, she could see he was worried, and she chided herself for making him wait to do this.

"Sure," she said, pulling her t-shirt off, wincing as the fabric pulled away. As it slipped over her face, she caught a whiff of something unfamiliar, and her stomach lurched. She realized that his smell would be all over her, and she wanted it off. Now. "In the shower."


	61. Clean enough

**Clean enough**

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

Under the water's spray, Bella began to scrub at herself with a loofah, the abbrading rattle making Edward slide in beside her. He gently pried it out of her hand. "Let me," he said softly, picking up a washcloth. Feeling the water, he knew it was too cold to be comfortable, and wondered if she'd made that choice deliberately. He turned it up slightly, to a lukewarm temperature.

Tentatively, he wrapped his arms around her, and began to gently wash her back. As soft as he tried to be, he could feel the sting of it as her muscles twitched. He was as quick as he could be, and stepped back to turn her so that she wouldn't get too cold against him.

The spasm Bella felt when he pulled away was almost instinctive. It was so easy let herself think he didn't want her, but she consciously stopped the slide into her insecurity. Instead, she reached back, her open hand a clear message. He wrapped his body around her again, his face nuzzling her hair. He could smell her blood in it, from where it had been pulled from her scalp, and he kept the angry shudder from his hands, forcing them to remember who they were holding.

"Would you wash my hair?" she asked quietly, ducking her head under the spray. She longed for his touch. Needed it as as reassurance against her own anxiety.

He nodded, pulling the bottle of shampoo off the shelf. His fingers admired the soft curvature of her skull, and he, the contented sigh of pleasure they pulled from her.

When he turned her so her back was to the shower nozzle, he waited for the water the run clear, and then swept his hand over her closed eyes, and kissed her on the lips.

It was as if something fell from her, something heavy she'd carried, worn even, for months. She imagined it dissolving, swirling down the drain, and felt herself lighter for it. Her hands were free, suddenly to splay over the coolness of his chest, feathering out to his shoulders, and then down to his hips.

The kiss lingered, and the space between them shrank, so that even the water had to sluice around the contact of their torsos.

Their hands still dug into each other's flesh, Edward turned off the water. He flicked a towel from one of the racks, and then dried her one-handed, the other sweeping her up towards him. She kept her lips to his, her own hands now tangled in his hair.

On the bed, Bella quickly turned him onto his back, sliding herself on top. It was Edward's turn to gasp, this time at the bold touch of her hand. A shiver ran up his body at the warmth of her fingers.

She leaned over him, and keeping his hands clear of her back, he explored the delicate curves of her ribs and breasts.

Their joint, and sharp intakes of breath, were those of pleasure, and shock, as the temperatures of their bodies met, fully together. Edward's hands moved to the safety of the mattress, and their slow rhythm was punctuated by the popping of stitches, ripped. He wanted, badly, to reverse their positions, touch her, pleasure her with certainty, but was terrified to handle her more than he needed to. His body was denying all the logic of his mind, moving instinctually, rather than intelligently. He struggled to keep his hands away.

When he could feel the spasms of her flesh over him, he allowed the release of his own. It took all his effort to turn his face, to sink his teeth into a pillow, instead of her wrist. It was only when he could feel the trembling in her arms that he was recalled to himself, and slipped her off of him, nestling her beside him. He heard, with a wince, another rip as he tore the blanket, bringing it up to cover her.

"Redecorating?" she asked, with a giggle.

He smiled, and chuckled, suddenly relieved, and planted a kiss on her forehead in response.

She reached around him with her arms, reciprocating with her lips to his. Turning, Bella went to retrieve the sheet, feeling a chill, and stopped, glimpsing his pelvis.

"Did you not—?" She blushed, the question unfinished, but her eyebrows furrowed.

He raised his own eyebrows at her, "climax?" he suggested.

She nodded, still blushing, her eyes now avoiding his.

He tipped her chin up, "yes, I did," he said softly, and kissed her, "and it was…", he paused, looking for a word that wasn't an understatement, and not finding one, settled for, "amazing."

She let her breath out before asking the next question. "Why are you…?" she trailed off, trying to wrap her tongue around her discomfort with this new vocabulary.

He chuckled. "Vampires," he reminded her, "don't need to sleep, or breath, or...rest." He sat up as he said it, sliding an arm around her, kissing her neck.

"Is it uncomfortable?" Bella asked, less shy now, meeting his eyes.

"Not really, no," he said, finding the space behind her ear. He stopped suddenly, and looked at her. "Really, it isn't. Don't get any ideas about needing to do anything."

It was her turn to chuckle, and clear her throat, putting her lips to his neck this time. "Actually, my motives were much more selfish, I'm afraid." Her blush rode high on her cheeks, and she pulled him on top of her.

"Your back," he murmured, sliding his hand under her shoulders to keep it off the bed.

"It's OK," she said, trying to pull him further down. He relented, but slowly.

The shock of their bodies, together, was less, the second time, and he was grateful that his impulses were more easily diverted.

The sun's rays were sharp over the horizon, by the time he convinced her to succumb to the other pulls of her body, and sleep, this time in the sure safety of his arms.


	62. Fire & Ice

**Fire & Ice**

Disclaimer:All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Author's note: Thanks for reading through the writing of this folks. Your engagement has been lovely. If you want to follow my personal blog, it is here: thistrifecta . blogspot . ca (you'll need to remove all the spaces to make it work) You can also reach me at gmail with the handle flamingmapleleaves

* * *

Edward could not stop the growing anxiety, and worry, watching Bella's bruises reveal themselves, like coded messages, flowering under skin. He knew, _knew_ that many were Jacob's. What was less certain, were which were caused by him. It was eating up him, watching the sun move over them, shadowing and illuminating them at various angles.

When the sun was midway to its zenith, he breathed a sigh of relief, as her toes began to twitch. Her heart rate was shifting. She would be awake soon.

Despite what had happened, he didn't dare touch her, worried he'd frighten her, or refresh the trauma of the night. Or of before.

He smiled when she opened her eyes, profoundly relieved that at least her waking was peaceful.

She gave a small groan, and rubbed her eyes. "What time is it?" she asked.

"Almost nine," he said. Pausing, before he got down to business, "hungry?"

She laughed. "Yes. Eager to keep me fed, hmm?"

"Yes," and he pulled her up, watching her move, trying to quietly assess how hurt she was. Her movements seemed unaffected so far, but he knew it would be at least another day before they fully showed.

She could feel his eyes on her, and turned, "I'm fine," she said, " I can _hear_ you worrying."

He wanted to laugh, but couldn't bring it out of himself, too entrenched, still, in his brooding. "Can I look at your back?" he said, hands poised.

"Sure," she said, shaking her head at his fretting.

"Does it hurt?" he asked, looking at the long, red line that cut across her shoulder blades.

"Just a little," she said, shrugging.

He smoothed the fabric of her gown back over her. They looked fine, and he allowed himself to be reassured by this. "Careful," he said, when they walked into the living room, "I haven't had a chance to clean up the glass yet."

Bella paused, surveying the space, and eyeing the couch, determined that perhaps she would prefer to sit on the patio.

Slipping on her shoes, she was startled by Edward's sudden hand on her. "I haven't had time to do anything outside, either," he said, glancing meaningfully towards the beach.

How she had managed to dislocate that particular bit of reality from her mind, she wasn't sure. "Right," she breathed out. She resisted his pull, when he tried to lead her to the kitchen. "No," she said, "that needs to be taken care of. Now."

"Of course," he said, moving to do so

"No," she said, not letting go, " _we_ need to."

"Do you...have something in mind?" he asked, several unpleasant possibilities for the disposal of Jacob's body fluttering across his mind.

"Yes," she said, "we'll burn him."

He was relieved. It was the least grisly of the options he'd imagined, and he nodded. "Now?"

Her nod was small, but troubled.

"I'll go get a few things," he said, and returned, swiftly, with a jerry can of gas. "We'll need to find some wood."

Bella didn't say anything, but disappeared into their room, returning with a small bundle. Edward recognized the ripped blanket, and heard the distinct crinkle of paper in it.

He had enough wood gathered quickly, and followed her directions, building a rectangular pyre.

"Wait," she said, when he went to pick up the body.

She laid out the blanket on the wood, and then backed away.

Edward paused, looking at his wife.

How strange it was to use that word.

And how marvelous, too.

She wanted, he realized, to offer this body dignity, when it had been so lately used to hurt her, and violate her will. Again.

He wanted to burn the body in pieces and then spread for the sharks to argue over.

He let his wonder at her love win, and placed the body as gently as he could on the structure they'd made.

Bella approached cautiously, as if she wasn't quite sure Jacob was dead. When she had summoned enough courage to touch his hand, and felt it cold under hers, her mind and body joined in their understanding.

He was dead. He wasn't coming back.

She pulled out the file Ann had given her from the bag, and set it on his chest, folding his arms over it. She wanted to close his eyes too, but her hand hovered uncertainly over them. Edward's hand went where hers refused, and she breathed out a "thank you."

The last item she pulled from the bag was the rope. She laid this at his feet, and then wrapped the edges of the blanket over him. She backed away, Edward's hand wrapping around hers.

"He saved me, Edward, when you left."

He nodded, watching her.

"And then he hurt me, thinking he loved me. Thinking he knew better than I did."

The same words could have been said about himself, Edward thought, but stayed quiet.

"I hope it's better, wherever he is. I'm sorry it came to this."

Edward wasn't. But he said nothing.

"Are you ready?" he asked, instead.

When she nodded, he doused the body and pyre with the gasoline, and then lit the end of a dry palm frond, holding it out to Bella.

She tossed it from a safe distance, watching the flames sweep up the wood and over the blanket. The fire shimmered in the bright light of the day, and then offered itself up to the sky in a plume of smoke.

They watched from the shade of the trees, and when the head twisted in the flames towards them, Edward stopped her from bolting. "It's OK, it's just the tendons contracting," he said. When her breathing had slowed again, he explained what else she might expect. "You don't have to stay," he said, but she shook her head, and they bore witness, the day fading into blackness before the fire, and the body were consumed.

The peace, finally, of the night carried them together, their bodies fire and ice against each other.

"I love you," she whispered, her lips over his.

"And I love you, too," he breathed back.

And it was enough.

The End


End file.
